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.