October 21, 2011

Am I Even Making Sense?

You’ve pumped me with caffeine and I’m floating in the thickness of our love. We twist into a nakedness that can only be rivalled by my forgetfulness of the reality that knocks at our pastel perfect house of dreams. I can’t remember how to spell, as I picture your touch. I can’t remember how to work as I recall your scent. My typing is failing as your voice rings in my ears. The air chills outside, barely and we hold on tighter to stay warm. It’s a dream indeed and I am so drunk off our love my head is heavy as it lays on your chest. My arms are numb, my hands shaking and the crispness of my vision feels like the highest high. I ought to fear the come down but history speaks to the fact that the only thing coming down will be my body falling coolly into your plush bed and thus your warm arms. Sweet nothings will be exchanged and wisps of fervor will float amongst down feathers as the ceiling fan whips in a fury above us. I’ve lost myself, my heart, to you and I don’t wish for it to be found in the slightest.

October 18, 2011

Intermittent Thoughts

And so we find ourselves intertwined. Me sleeping sideways to get some of the warmth you left behind when you rose to prepare for an early flight. You kissed me goodbye upside down as I whispered my dreams to you. We have found a comfort in this.

We pass each other in this silent dance and your smell whispers through me. I hear your laugh through thin walls and wish to capture it in my hand just to let it boisterously rush out again like fine sand.

I sit alone and smirk at the thought of you, my body melts at the idea of your touch.

September 09, 2011

Love Would Not Be Defeated

You wake me in the night and sometimes I’m so tired I turn my head from what you want and lull back to sleep. That’s selfish and yet I need a little self in the dark and I’d rather wait for you to wake me when the dim light of dawn peers in at us through slatted blinds. We have negotiated into a fog of love, I find us jumping off cliffs into pools of aquamarine when I close my eyes and when I open them we are holding hands and smiling at each other over down pillows.

I’m giddy and nervous and scared but it feels right for right now.

Your big hand envelops mine and it seems our cocktail glasses have emptied right into my heart, I am drunkenly whole again. Minutes tick by slowly and as the remnants of our morning fade into thoughts of what our evening holds I smile, oh do I smile. This rollercoaster is trucking slowly; chuck, chuck, chuck, up towards an unknown horizon and the anticipation leaves me full of wonder. Wonder at what we will become, wonder at how your power over me can strike my helpless in an instant but your attention leaves me in a state of glory. I have given too much to you, it is obvious, but I did not claim defeat, I inquired of you with honest intentions and asked you to take this chance with me, your eager acceptance has left me in a haze but I smile, oh do I smile.

August 23, 2011

On the Brink of a Forfeit

At what point do I strike a balance and say that loving you without reciprocation is enough? It makes me feel weak, like an idiot child, and you placate me with expensive gifts when all I want is your undivided love and attention. A better choice might be to let you go, and as a man of short to no response you might not notice I’m even gone. You fill voids with girls and gadgets and I am left shaking at the thought of either lounging in your bed with their new fresh smells and soft buttons. I feel old, which is ironic, I feel old and tired and I think you look at me in the same contexts. I listen to love songs that beg for companions to hold on to a bond, to a love that hangs in a delicate balance and I beg in the same contexts. But you don’t want to hear my begging or my fits, you want smiles and something a little less tortured, when its you who has left me in this twisted tortured state. I want for the happiness we deserve, I want for the happiness we had before your ghosts scared you from your future.

August 09, 2011

The things I've written about you paint us in shadow but I continue to fight for light. My heart wipes the lies from my mind and I am left in a whirl pool of love/like. Your continuous shock and amazement at my forwardness regarding my feelings has become annoying really, and while I sit to write something nice, something bursting with hope, I let out the real feelings of complacency. Why have I let you become my everything, while you teeter between lust and regret? 

July 18, 2011

The Run

My mind spills over with quotes and thoughts, words and phrases play incessantly and yet I cannot, no, I have not had the will, the ultimate inspiration, to sit and write. In the past heartache had brought so much inspiration and now since my attempt to flip the script and be inspired by happiness, I am left scriptless. I run instead of write, the need for physical heart health and mind numbness outweigh the need for spiritual heart health and thoughtfulness.

The rain finally came and that’s when I find the running most peaceful, bad music fills my head leaving little room for any other thoughts and my sweat mixes with the fresh waters of the rain. When I’m running everything else aches, thus taking the pressure of said heart.

He calls and asks if I will run with him, can I give him part of this sanctuary? He has taken everything else, even this running only began as a way to impress him. Now he impresses me with his ability to compartmentalize our love and lie to my tear soaked face.

I say I’ll let go, I say these incredulous infidelities will break what’s left of us, I say enough is enough. When in reality I will never let go, I will endure these falsities and enough will never be enough.

July 01, 2011

The Likelihood

It's likely that someday I'll will forget what your house smells like.
It's likely that I will forget this night I sat on your couch and tears pushed at the backs of my eyes.
Rational says it's likely we won't go on like this forever
And it's likely I will forget what these last kisses tasted like just as I have forgotten the flavor of the first.
It's likely that my heart will break and ache for another month or more
And it's likely you'll make me completely crazy
And also that I'll recover
All these likely things ought to be relieving but they aren't because they are just happenstance and hopefulness.
It's likely you will burn me and I'll say it doesn't hurt
It's likely that you'll lie some more and I'll reciprocate
It's likely I'll keep you on this pedestal and melt at your feet
It's likely nothing will survive this dreadful occasion
It's likely in another 15 years I'll just be another name you've forgotten
It's likely that you feel all these likelihoods too but there I go with hopefulness and happenstance, there I go thinking it's going to be ok and happy and smooth sailing but in reality that isn't very likely, is it?

June 27, 2011

The Pause Button

Sometimes I hear your voice like a ghostly apparition when I know it cannot be you. Sometimes I feel your touch when I am alone in my room, longing for you. These days, this fleeting life, it is hard to trust as my heart waivers between break and bust. To pause something at its height, to stop the boulder as it teeters at the top of the hill sounds all to difficult so I bide my time, I wait and want as usual. I hope and try my best not to hate for as this love spurts forth from something I never saw coming I can’t stop it, much like a severed vein, there is no tourniquet that can stop this well of overwhelming feeling. It will be a certain miracle if anything is to survive this. I try to believe that you are genuine with the words you delicately placate me with but it’s hard to know where the truth lies, and which lies are truth.

June 21, 2011

Be Careful What You Wish For

I didn’t even make it up the stairs. I collapsed in surreal pain and excruciating numbness. These kinds of feelings should be what make the shell grow harder and yet somehow I had become soft, soft and supple as your skin when I had touched it in the shifting minutes of dawn. Now I have inspiration again, that well of kisses dry and replaced by a spring of tears. The heartache made me sick, I begged and pleaded from the floor but silent echoes were all that answered my sobs. Why can’t you be all those things I want you to be and often pretended you were in the daydreams of my heart? The lost sleep is slighted by the black gnarled hole that resides where my heart once beat. You blindsided me, you crept slowly like those tall cocktails into my brain with this talk of “it must stop,” “we have to end it.” I left my body, floated above us from bar to bar, my face expressionless, the shell not hard enough. Where did the rug go? And why now? Because I think it might rain again and I can barely stand.

June 16, 2011

Happiness As Writer's Block

If I sit and force poetry, no poems will come.
If we lay and force kisses, it's a smile that will spread.
So I'll plant kisses not poems and wish for inspiration to grow....

June 12, 2011

What the Meteorologist Let On

I couldn’t wake up and convinced myself it was because I was dreaming of you. My arm was asleep and it dragged through my dreams as I now drag through my day. Stopping to ponder the proliferation of cumulus clouds that hold no rain. I am reminded of when I watched the lightening storm rage over the ocean from my street and my despondent neighbor used foul language.

I’d say its melancholy again but I think that might be a game I’ve over played. Curiosity maybe? I thesaurusize and make conjunctions where things ought not conjunct, I find lugubrious, exaggerated indeed.

Smart cartoons revel in the ability to swear on cable and I find their allegory self-referential and depressing. I search for some other comedic relief but continue to dwell on the animated statement of cynicism. Have we out grown our own favorite things? Have we enough time in the day to question more than where to lunch?

Back to the clouds, cumulus turns and hides in nimbostratus but the rain still refuses to fall.

Sometimes when we lie in bed my hands are sticky and sweaty like a child’s, while your soft dry hand envelopes mine I feel inferior to you. It happens that way often; as we speed along empty streets on your motorcycle I cling to you as nonchalantly as possible, when you talk to other women I look up at you in wonder, my eyes wide like a lost puppy. When I wear polka dots your reaction is often bleak and I see you smirk at stripes as well. I’ve contemplated your persona and decided to accept it on a whole, you’ve left little room for passing judgments to sway you. Today someone said you’re more cultured then you would like to let on, whereas I like to let on as much as possible, whether it be about culture or anything else.

So here we are sticky and dry, lost and quite founded, striped and color blocked, young, immature, weary and cynical. But still no rain.

May 17, 2011

It Might Be Mania, But It's All Mine

My skin burns where you last touched it. Pessimism weighs heavily on us like the clouds growing darker outside. We all close doors to tell secrets we want everyone to know.

My jealousy turns to rage turns back to jealousy again. I refuse to live like this but don't know any other way to survive. I concoct plans, solutions and serums but you don't answer my pleads, instead you change the subject. Chills course my skin, caffeine unsoothes anything formerly sootheable.

Wasn't it nice when I just sweltered in your sheets? When everything was fresh, fraiche even?

Now I scribble fervently, I shake and want to scream but I am intent on listening, hoping, wishing to hear your footsteps, for the door to turn, but no I am left with my mania.

This mania, these words, the most extreme interpretation of tiny drops of emotion find an outlet for the screams, albeit silently. This outlet finds a truth for the serum, a real problem for the solution and those bated breaths continue to breathe life into a reckless romantic life form that thought it couldn't survive.

And there go those footsteps.............

May 11, 2011

Make it the Way it Was

Is it fun? is it right? is it worth it?
You make me crazy, ecstatic and utterly confused.
I am driven to the edge.

I have lost patience in trusting but I want for yours.

I secretly conspire against you by holding you close and looking over your shoulder.

The world has stopped outside, a fire truck blinks but I can't hear the effects.

It was fun. It was wrong. It still is worth it when there's a glimpse of what was between bouts of jealousy.

I want answers. I want evidence. I want out.
I want attention. I want to trust you. I want to start again.

Make it the way it was. Stop hiding the back burner and grey areas.
Maybe it can never be much more than this and maybe you already figured that out.

I love the way it is in the morning. I love the way it is in the afternoon when you're tired and we're quiet.
Make it that way again.

Let the evidence be a reason for me to trust again.
Let me not need the proof, let the gun be cold and smokeless.

Let me only second guess where the next kiss will land.

Let me make it the may it was, the way you think it is.

May 02, 2011

Nauseous Nostalgia

Today I'm homesick. I long for melodies to songs I thought I forgot, I yearn for the pride that can only be felt for low green hills that meet white sand beaches. I long to dance in the dark and run towards hidden horizons. Long drives that act as lullabies and end at tall feather beds with pillows that are always mysteriously cool to the touch, call to me softly. The air conditioning in my new apartment doesn't make the familiar sounds of a slow creek meandering outside a faraway window, it creeks in other ways that startle me awake and leave me breathless and unnerved. I wish for the warm sticky hands of a child to latch about my leg as they exude squeals of pure delight. I miss my huge gossipy extended family I took for granted as I hid in their midst. Now what feels like a million miles stretches further between us and empty holidays end in empty phone calls. I list and loft above stress levels, I makeshift a family between lovers and find it lonely and fairly unrewarding compared to forced holiday meals and the smells of homemade pasta sauce. Home is but a feeling? No. Home most certainly is a place that holds my heart and sometimes my mind.

April 11, 2011

Not the Art Lesson I was Looking For

Does it look like the wind has whipped through my eyes? Because I feel completely hallow and yet drowning simultaneously. A long needle meant for draining lungs must have pierced my heart and I feel sick. Sick at myself for only trying to please you while everyone hushes and whispers about appeasing you. Their thought process more self centered, more on par with running from your wrath, escaping your scorn and basking only in the sunshine of your praise. I easily bore the brunt of all the wrong over the last week, I have talked you off ledges and yet not into bed, I feel pushed away while you row towards brighter, healthier shores. The pit in my stomach turns black and my face snarls to match it. It's the last thing I want to say but, my little heart breaks and I seethe with jealousy. If you come back in here I promise not to say things that will make you run away, I promise to act perky when in fact I feel so tired, tired of being the miser of my feelings and tired of over thinking my own thoughts. But you don't come back, you leave in an all too important rush, and again I find the words "my poor broken little heart" repeating repetitiously through my over thought thoughts. Did we draw the line already? Or is it that you're under the weather again? What I wouldn't give to go back to a time when I didn't feel, back to a time before these emotions took hold of my meager hand and pulled me down towards these incongruent depths. As if that time ever existed, as if I haven't always wanted you to hold me tightly and kiss me hard from the moment I set eyes on you. And so here I sit alone again dizzy from spinning my wheels and hoping that you'll hold me once more, hoping I'll find the congruence in all the incongruency, hoping that your nonresponsiveness speaks only to your status quo and not that deathly line we think we ought to draw, at this point I think we've gone far beyond doodling.

March 14, 2011

Pondering on a Horizontal Heat Wave

Steam rises from my hot skin as I try to sleep in your bed,
the fan whips wind around the room and I feel lonely.

Why is it so hot in here?
Why can't I sleep while you slumber soundly beside me?
These questions leave me listless as I try to melt into your bed like a pile of ice cream, sweet treats infusing the sidewalk with the colors of velvety mint and milky chocolates.

Dreams elude me and I toss and turn into you hoping to steal some of your sleep for myself, no such luck.
I spread and kick the sheets and wonder about the temperature outside, the fan has started to cool my skin but my mind counts on at a feverish pace.

If I fall asleep that will mean our secret embraceable weekend is over and I'll wake to the real world, I'll ponder your weekend in public but know that the privacy we found was nothing less than glory.

So I tick on, maybe the time change has left it's trail on my internal clock, my finger taps the side of the mattress, suddenly you awake breathless and detail the dream you were having while grabbing my hand.
I smile as you settle back into what might be left of your dream, I think you also smile but in the dark I can't be certain.
My legs restless yet exhausted from dancing in the afternoon.
Reaching for stars that had yet to appear and grinning wildly wide from the familiar feelings of confining shoes and abandoned movements.

I start to choreograph here under your silky comforter and slowly my mind wanders toward the much anticipated goal of sleep.
Like a downy feather floating slowly from the sky, each breath, each imagined pirourette, the feather falls a little further until finally finding rest, my eyes close and I dance right into wind whipped dreams.

March 04, 2011

Before I Forget

I want to kiss you before I forget what you taste like
I want to hold you before I forget what you feel like
I want to lie in your bed before I forget what your sheets smell like
but the loud humming of machines is all I can hear
not a taste, touch or smell can penetrate the clouds in my ears.

I want the image of you standing behind me, kissing where my neck meets my shoulder to be a memory not a dream
I want to lay my head on your bare chest to hear your caged heart thrash against your ribs.
I want to have a pocket full of postcards of all the places we have been
but never leave the crushing softness of your bed.

All these wants are left for wishes as you kick me with compliments and shuffle off leaving a wake of my oozing heart.
Do I run after you and grab your hand in defiance?
No, you continue to lead this waltz to nowhere
less of a dance, more of a silent stand off for good face time

Invite me somewhere with you
Ask me to wrap my arms around you once more before the week ends.
I have chills that speak to the cold of the surroundings
but from this freezing tower I look out on humid nights
and wait for you to offer your hand for a promenading debut

It's just that I may catch a chill before you have the opportunity to offer said palm.
So hurry and turns my wants and dreams to reality before I forget.

March 01, 2011

Fickle Friction

I watch you sleep and crave to kiss you in the dark glow of your television. Your heavy breathing calls for heavy petting but I waver to wake you. Instead I plant soft kisses on your shoulders, you stir awake with gratitude but fall back to dreamland just as quickly. I need more, I'm uneasy as the week begins again but I can't fight for a love that isn't there or must be hidden between corps and corporations. We rile for the weekend but the mean time leaves me lethargic. My past haunts me telephonically as I wisp in and out of daydreams, the rendering leaves time for such leisurely luxuries. I'd have to assume it's the friction or lack there of that would turn lovers to "brothers" but such assumptions leave me cold and yearning for something less familial. I ought to let it be a lesson in you scratch my back I'll scratch yours but this despondency leaves me itching for something more.  Maybe the novelty has worn off, maybe you only like me when you're drunk and lonely, maybe I've become too needy, but mostly I've turned to over analyzing instead of living in the glorious moment of now. Each new scene, each new experience as a life builds itself 3,000 miles away from what once was home. 

February 24, 2011

More Beauty

Now that the pressures of the weekend and simpleties of life have found a resting place in my psyche I can get back to the beautiful. I can stop blaming you for my fears and find myself once again entranced by the thought of you. I long to find your profile in the darkness of dawn and plant firm kisses on your shoulders while you waver between sleep and dreams. Pushing fears at you, holding back tears from you was a repercussion of running from you and now our Benjamin Button of a relationship finds middle age. Our time as roommates closes as I strike out on my own, we both continue to unfold like lotus, softer, smoother spots become exposed. Dark clouds cover what's left of a pumpkin colored moon as I slide down and sit back with a smitten smile. This beauty is far better than giving into the anxiety of a life yet to be lived. 

February 21, 2011

A Mild Separation Anxiety Attack

Caffeine and alcohol induced dehydration, I sweat alone in your sheets and put off the reality of 8 blocks. Time to get up young lady, time to grow up little girl. Maybe I can shower it off and disappear before you get back, a look of squinted confusion, all that's left of a hidden romance. Instead I rush to the bottoms of sweet flavored vodka drinks and rush towards your bed. Time to get up little girl, wipe the sleep from your eyes and start building your own bed. You made me want to read Cosmopolitan and then didn't answer my inquiries, you left me languishing and learned from my white lies and half truths and used them against me. It hurts today, it's really fucking scary today and I want to run to you and cry but that's the last place I should go. 

Standing alone in my empty house only now does the reality of what I've done set it in, I've traversed miles again, this time in a quest for experience this time alone. One solemn tear, streams down along my cheek just as I slip slid away again. I wanted you to be a security blanket, but it might be time to sleep alone. 

February 19, 2011

They Knew it to Be True Before it Was

Slumbering in your big bed, your fingers find mine and I flutter awake with a smile. I was trying to push out of my comfort zone but continue to find myself wrapped in your arms under your sheets. I fiend to dream of you all day, by night I nuzzle in your scent, you leave me grinning more than I am used to. We engage in a game of shhhhh, secrets abound, we delicately dance about the situation in hopes no one will notice. Each look calculated, each touch, each spoken word a novelty until we find ourselves alone and trip down hidden paths gripped tightly together stopping for long awaited kisses and embraces. I want to shower your neck with short kisses and find your gaze across every table. The pressure is tangible as our time playing house comes to a close, as neighbors will we find the same thrills or something more reasonably melancholy? 

January 28, 2011

The Precipice of Fresh Frontiers

So this is the way it goes out? Like a slow dying flame or a bottled firefly, flickering against unknown odds. I’m tearing alone at what’s left of work, the let down slow and cumbersome. Suddenly my hand shakes with the pressure of days to come, the past haunts and daunts us all and one more night is the least we can do. I am alone as I steer once again towards familiar coasts. We dance in dreams but are awoke by our own palpitations that go unnoticed in waking life. My vision blurry, my heart aching, this cannot be the moment of realization; I don’t have time to face reality yet. These lyric-less songs evoke more emotion than thought possible. Memories and faces, memories of faces, push it away again, not ready for this much conscientiousness yet. Give it a few days til the sun soaks in and I find myself climbing my way through clematis again. The only cure for all this emotion must be saltwater, wash away these feelings and once again find fresh frontiers and new adventure.

January 09, 2011

Hauntingly Hunting

You're haunting me, hiding at every digital turn I take. This transference of obsession started off easy enough but the continuous burning and lack of reciprocation has left me drowning. And while I move toward familiar coasts I continue to yearn for something more from you, I have let ALL of my crazy show and you look back in confusion with the same stare you kept in those stunted early morning moments. You're haunting me, your being and phantasm lurk over my shoulder and hide in the recesses of my mind.  When you pass though my mind, wisp through my psyche, my shoulders go numb, my knees weak and I am left with the taste of sick in my mouth. 

Unbeknownst to you I slide down, slouch down and pine alone, you do not share my feat  and you do not expect the extent to which I have dwelled on all things you. Even now, even this, especially this, is too much but somewhere in the interim, in the crush transference, in the 3rd degree, I have lost myself.