Michel Martin on Things that Don’t Exist

[From a FB post on February 25th]

I look at this chair because 
it doesn’t exist and your hair falling on your shoulders and the cup you slowly take to your mouth the tea fragrant and wet
they all do not exist
the cuts on my skin and the sharp pain and the small drops of blood 
none of them exist
and the me who sits on the chair 
the chair that doesn’t exist
that me 
doesn’t exist either 
because I am still here and nothing can exist 
while I’m still here 

I take a breath the air tickles my nostrils
the warm Mediterranean air with its sweet
peach finish note
and the air travels to my lungs and my lungs expand with gratitude
that gratitude doesn’t exist
it is just an illusion of the peach
and the peach was painted on the canvas 
by the hand of the painter
he never existed

your laughter like glass breaking on the marble
goes to my spine it’s radiant and full
full of birds
those birds in your laughter don’t exist
because I am still here

the only thing that exists is our sex
our sex like a full moon like a fat breast
I cried my most perfect cry
your love is a wasteland