November 30, 2010

You've Left Me Doting

You are the perfect antidote to feeling sorry for myself. You came out of no where so unexpectedly and melted the chill in the crisp afternoon air. I quickly lost myself in your lips and manly aroma, and as we burned in your sheets I closed my eyes and dreamt of architecture. Now that I'm left drowning in what's left of the melodies of our always too brief encounters, something between a sneeze and tears pushes at my sinuses and leaves me smiling. These sweet verses have made me slow down a bit, climb this hill a little slower and daydream of you, only to reach the summit and be reminded that I had vowed to harden this shell. So I speed down the back side of the mountain a little nauseous, with salt water specks hanging from my lower lashes. It would seem that whatever seed it is you planted long ago has sprung open and filled this translucent hard candy shell with wildflowers that bend and twist towards the sunlight of your smile. The weight of the workweek pushes on my mind while fond bruises weigh on my hips, similarly to your bruised ribs that left you writhing in pain rather than passion. I'm pulling for another meeting, vowing not to let you in but chasing you through thirsty dreams. While you may have been the perfect antidote I don't believe you have the want or availability to quench my thirst for you. So I'll imbibe something else, something water, something tea and leave these obsessions for another opportunity to let my crazy show behind rose colored glasses while you unnervingly impose by holding, by wrapping our hands in your sweatshirt to trip down city streets and insist on kissing me at each turn.

November 26, 2010

And the Shell Gets Harder

You begged for a way in, and found a tiny hole in which to plant this seed again. You gained entry to my heart when I thought I had all but locked it up. Pushed and prodded, scrambling in the sand like a gladiator, you have struck me again and I stumble, only to make the shell harder. And It will be harder next time, if there is a next time and when you try to whisper “I love you” in the dark of a drunken stupor I won’t let you, not again will you cry to me, cry wolf, cry love and then turn around and rip the rug out from under us when you sober up. And the shell gets harder, a thick candy coating, fierce sugar and I pull my hand away from you in public. Stop hurting me, stop getting in, stop melting this barricade that has been the only thing to keep me sane and trudging along this road whilst I can barely stand. I reach out, reach across miles of land and space and time to make room, make a space for you and while you have done your best, I feel left in spit again.

Cover the cracks with vivacious liquids, meager tonics and slow lagers. Salty tears mix with sweet fears and a trail makes its way towards my heart. Stop it now, it’s been enough. I vowed to keep it simple and simply have fun, but you pushed me towards more and whispered at more then turned around to slap me with rules. I’ll not bow at your feet cause you think you’ve changed, I’ll not pretend the past doesn’t exist if you’re just going to keep repeating it. The beast has reared its ugly head again and all I wanted to do was dance with you. Put my small hand in yours and waltz again through dreams. I should have known better than to have ever let my feet leave the ground, and the shell gets harder. I’ll wither away in here, alone and choking back feelings I don’t let myself have anymore. And the shell gets harder, because I wouldn’t let you in again, the shell gets harder.