I am assembling a chain, you see. No matter if its fine and as insubstantial as air. Each moment builds on the next, a determined effort to move forward, to forget you. This link? I'll forget the exact blue of your eyes, the next the smell of your skin. With each link you'll fade into a hazy recollection until you become just another number, another face in the crowd of the countless who have gone to die in the crowded room (of my heart). The irony, of course is that each loop is crafted with the very thing I wish to forget. And as I try to forget you I inevitably remember you; the blue fire of your kiss. It's then that the chain shatters in my hands, forcing me to rebuild it over and over again only to rupture in my hands once more, tormenting me to madness.
I'd joke and call you my octopus because you'd engulf me in a flurry of limbs whenever I came near, pulling me seductively toward your mouth. I was happy to be your prey, to get lost in the tangle of your tentacles - another love blinded fool - I had no idea that you'd feast on my soft innards, then spit out the bones when you were through.
We'll chance upon each other, some day or evening a long time from now. By then my heart will have scabbed over, but still the edges are tender. You'll be excited - "it's been so long!" - but I'll be full of dread, caution. I'll regard you coolly, just enough detachment to make you unsure, ill at ease. I'll make some cutting remark, veiled in subtlety, then excuse myself from your company. You'll mull the comment over, repeating it in your mind, puzzling together its meaning. And slowly, you'll reach the soul of it and know that I'm still bleeding. You'll watch me from across the room, and I'll know by its focused heat, But I'm too old and too tired to play the games of young girls. You won't see me feigning laughter or pretending to flirt with some random person. I'll simply be me, as even keeled and placid as you knew I was. It will remind you of those quiet moments we shared, tangled in each other, Doing nothing but marveling at the miracle of love, the wonder of eachother's breathing. You'll then be in touch, and I'll hesitate but answer; no sense of preservation. You'll apologize for it all and I'll give you a halfhearted, watery kinda smile. (Actions, of course, speak louder than words and I'm simply mirroring your past indifference.) You'll realize too late, like they all do, that you made a huge mistake. But it'll make no difference to me because you had broken something inside me That day, way back, when I stared out of the window, watching a squirrel as You stood above me and recited a litany of why you didn't want me. And maybe then you'll long for me the way I did those many months, The wind blowing through the hollow in your chest, whistling past the ragged edges. And then you'll understand, it dissolved that warm October as I sat in silence. You'll know it's too late for me, for you, for us. It's just now that you're catching up.
"Look at me," he murmured. So I did, choosing his left eye over the right. Like I knew it would, the pupil dilated, blossoming under my steady gaze. There's never an option, I'm taken hostage by eyes and that's why I never look, see? Now I saw him, stripped bare before me, the scars raw on his flesh. Yet, he never blinked, never broke contact as I penetrated and saw it all. I admired his courage - I could never be that vulnerable - but also his stupidity. After all, he didn't know what kind of woman I might be or what I could do with his scars. Then again... maybe he just wanted to be seen.
Rumi was really onto something - writing poems about God, who for all we know could be a figment of our imagination, or a madness of spirit. The point is: when you love something intangible and invisible, it has no chance of ever breaking your heart.
It was the jolt of recognition that unnerved me when our eyes met for the first time. The Universe held its breath and I didn't feel homeless anymore.
Bukowski once said,
love was like the early
What he didn’t say was,
that the fog would
slither into your
Upon review, I determined this was shit. I deleted it so I wouldn't be a fucking hypocrite. 😉
I could feel your presence - passionate, intense like the eye of a hurricane - just outside the door. My fingers hesitated on the lock for just a moment - a heartbeat - before letting you in. You slipped in, as silent and light footed as a shadow, simultaneously locking the door and, pushing me against the wall with your slim body. I folded beneath the slight pressure of your mouth, both urgent and exquisitely, painfully slow. My breath caught in my chest, head spinning with vertigo. And before I knew it, you sank to your knees and began removing my pants with your teeth.
I think about you late at night,
when I’m trying to fall asleep
which is counterproductive to
I think about me stripped
bare beneath you, legs spread
wide in eager welcome and you
There is a feeling of awe
each time you slide into me
and I look down the long length
Yet, even though these images
make the vein in my neck throb
I still fall into a deep, peaceful