Old Obsessions

I’m building something for you; compiling my obsession when in reality you owe me nothing, not even the acceptance of a package, the return of a phone call or the reciprocation of my desire.
I search for your smoky smell in my clothes and pillows, you are already gone. Your face in the glow of the television was everything I needed and it has now become everything I long for. I imagined it would be your face when I woke up on this side of my universe but it wasn’t. You are not here and you’re barely there. I try to pick up, try to move on. Seduce me again, I beg you. Try to block it out, try to smile. Want me again, I beseech you.
I fell down on my knees in the gravel, arms stretched to the full moon as tears streamed down my face, body shaking. Maybe it was the tequila or the gin, but it feels much more real than those easy libations. I’m lost again; lost in loving/lusting you a million miles away as I, most likely, have barely crossed your mind.


“my only friends are pirates, it's just who i am

i'm better as a memory than as your man.”

te amo?

I remember her saying he was wonderful
I remember it being a secret
I remember him breaking her heart or maybe it was her who did the breaking.
And there it was a lovely romance fallen down around her ankles.
Whole heart exposed.

They say that if you dream in Spanish you have become fluent
I think they lived there, in dreams, in Spanish
Heavy hot humid flowers hung on their words and work and music.

Quiet music hidden

You could feel the whirl wind of loss in her words and see it in her eyes
her own account sadder, introspective, while she watched his every movement, his ever faltering ways, as he escaped her.

There was begging, there was lunch with no music.
It would have been nice to say it was a bitter sweet goodbye but it was more bitter as she reminded herself “ don’t forget to breathe,” and moved on to mend within.

All the while remembering,
He was wonderful
It was a secret
And she did the breaking.

like ten thousand balloons

Pull me in
I feel like I’m floating away
Pull me in
Pull me back
Kiss me
Hold my hand
I’m getting lost out here with out you
While you sleep in sweat next to me
I miss you most when we touch
It’s not enough to just be with you
Look at me
see me
Love me
While I struggle to love myself
Pull me in
I’m floating away on tears and fears
Pull me back
Before I’m too high, too far gone.

A Lonely September

I used to cry over you and even now as the tears well up I reminisce sleeping in your nook, your smell of cigarettes and soap. I miss you as I listen to bands to told me about, I miss you as I wake from dreams that your OCD rituals plagued, I miss you and I want to kiss you, in all your drunken gloriousness. I itch for those old kisses or any kisses for that matter. Chills run through my body as I think of love and lust and lacking all of it. A romantic, with no romance. I try to find substance and inspiration in this humid life, I try to find wonder and awe in this suburban life, there is nothing yet. Where is my city? Where are the wonderful lights of uncovered stars? Where are you sleeping these days? I long for your hot sheets in exchange for this humid life and our long drives down rocky coasts and dirt roads. Your long fingers holding my hand because at least someone would be holding it. I have let you become my lasting vice. I day dream of running away with you to continents and islands, day dreams that will stay just that, dreams, while I wait and write movies of our unfinished life.

“I didn't mean for this to go as far as it did
And I didn't mean to get so close and share what we did
And I didn't mean to fall in love, but I did
And you didn't mean to love me back, but I know you did”

This life or the next

I dream of him and airports and antiques. Glossy tables in old libraries upon high hills, steep hills that our dreamland go-carts could not traverse. Libraries with butlers that “shhhhh” your giggles, long stretched windows to view those wonders that could not fit within these walls. Ancient swords and jackalope heads hung on the walls; magically woven rugs run the length of each hall. A tiny airport out of Casablanca meant only for parting lovers. This dream is a welcome break for images of a new corporate life, video tapes of every size and shape, stacks and rows of them have plagued my dreams for the last two weeks which were in turn the first two weeks of the rest of my life. Regardless I always cherish dreams filled with old romance and wet kisses. While I ponder him daily I have had to put my obsession with the future, our future to rest, because now I am a world away and lie in other arms, wonderful arms. And so I can only dream and rest assured that our tortured souls are not yet finished with each other and we will meet again in this vessel or another to torture and obsess for another lifetime.