Tag: lust

Never My Intention (But Then Again What Consequences Are?)

Window with a view to fill my lungs,
wet air, dry eyes, smoke and a
heart full of bourbon, sipping
out of a styrofoam cup the way you did.
Old Grandad on deck and jazz on vinyl,
humming bluegrass. Tapping foot. Cast-iron
skillet and some cheese I don’t know the name of.

Its a ritual, reserved for the unusual
moment I feel like missing you,
a maligna of the mind I treat
the way old doctors did insanity.
Summon a memory of the body,
the carnage of love, sapphire wounds;
gilded kisses lost so long ago that glass Summer.

But I don’t like the taste of whiskey any more,
my cigarettes don’t have menthol,
and lyrics sound like people I used to know
but have nothing in common with any more.
Friends lost for no particular reason
other than growing apart as people.

Strangers I shared death with.

I Love You (*EXPIRES 04/10/2013)

This City Is Alive. Can’t You Feel That Pulse Vibrating On Your Sole? I’m not sure if you mean sole or soul, but either way I’m nodding along, feeling my way down that soft hill just where your spine dips and your back ends, and I can’t begin to imagine what else a hand is for. That’s when I get your back hand.

Don’t Be An Ass, Just Stop, Listen.

And we pause for a moment to feel the wind and vague aroma of pretzels whisper and whisk us away to the promised land. You hear a voice in an empty street, I feel the whisper of midtown traffic. What’s with yours? The Fuck’s With Yours? We laugh it off, but in retrospect, that difference turns out to be so tragic.

It’s barely sundown but we’re near halfway done with this town. Flannigans, your favorite place, Oh My God You Remembered! Open balcony and buffalo wings so good They Must Have Got Me Pregnant. But I’m just gunning for sympathies. A last stake and a blunt mood while you blunt moods, swinging this weeks crush down my face like another God damn meme. Oh, I bet he’s a fucking prince. Works where? You don’t say? Shut up and order me a drink, I can do without the Me-and-Him while I’m mapping out your decolletage. I’ve got a heavy heart with heavier thoughts, but if you want to brag I’ll allow it, because the way you say my name still makes me useless.

Go on then, I said. He sounds so great, please show me.

And you go reaching for your phone, flick, swipe, flick, turn page: Facebook gallery of couple-selfies so synonymous with our generation. Too close for comfort in those comforts, vacation photos where you hide your feet in the sand because I know you’re too self conscious. He’s grinning, so damn winning, Joe-Yale jaw and an All-American gleam as he’s leaning on his side to your open arms and open-ended’s. And anybody else would say in dears, Awe, Well Now, They Must Be So Happy.

And yet, just like that, here we are. And yet, just like that, there we were: mourning in the morning, even by the evening, smoked in the dusk, and I’m the dew to meet the sunrise. Smell me, taste me, feel me, breathe me, breathe me. Inhale. Inhale. Tensely, deliberately, you ask for your iPhone charger while I am none the wiser and glimmering of you.

We had the whole of a sleepless town to dance around and be depraved in. The music was calling, your hips responding, three missed calls on your neck where my lips felt they had a part in. (Near)missed connections in the way you said my name like a taxi cab confession, soft and blatant but underhanded, so our manager had to ask Can’t-You-Wait-Until-I-Get-You-There? And we laughed about it later. while you were wearing my shirt and I played footsie under breakfast because, fuck, do I wake up ready.

Because last night is so distant and never enough. And I have these damn instincts that won’t let me let it up. But I’d be remiss to not reminisce in the way you smiled when we spent the day and I locked the door. To keep everybody out.

Or maybe forcing us in.

You And Me And The Devil Makes Three

Her kiss is a relapse, misfortune,
worsening of my worst impulses;
an awful influence full of irresistible.
Her words are drugs and drugs are a clutch,
til highs do us part and lows make us
whole again. Bags of heavy yesterdays
weigh down, and I don’t know what to do with myself.

Taken hands, hushed words, rushed stalls-
what a waste to not grab waist and do
a four letter word (love). Plans to keep
and make her a home, 5PM lockdown, rush hour,
crowded public when doubts double and my mouth
taste like cinders. Slipping  into a thought of her
like a favorite pair of jeans. Snug, familiar,
warm; she fits well. Run my thumb along the holes
and coffee stains, wonder what memory or feeling
the moment will settle as, when the honeys and the moons
fade. If my name will be a sigh, wistful as a cloud,
or vague as rain humming to what the radio plays. 
A feeling haunting me in the distance, a reminder
that you are in tangles and I am tangelsome.

Still I pray for relapse and disaster,
addiction and her sex to once again step into me,
far from fog and drizzled Sundays, so I might tug
on her thoughts like a shoelace.  I am undone again.

Penguins Fly Coach

Rum on the floor and when we dance it’s sticky. with each step. But who cares, because the dark makes sense of what we can’t say out loud and is more aware of our hips and heart than we knew had feeling. Mistaken identities happen naturally when alcohol is involved, but we make the most of it. Pretend to be we are something other than what we pretend to be at 9AM. And if I should grab her waist and scream DESPACITO.

Words I wouldn’t consider were worlds apart but coming from his mouth is all I’m left feeling with. Dick moves in purposefully absent movements, I see through it and laugh at, but being the butt end of a joke still feels inclusive when you’re the punch line.

Should I touch the part between your elbow and shoulder that shines like a silver. Am I an animal to want you close to my body and suffocate in your perfume. So warm it reminds me of Summer, so dark when it’s early and I’m howling.

 

Oh Maria, Maria – Won’t You Open Your Heart* And Let Me In? (Editors Note: *Legs)

Mourning in the morning, even by the evening,
smoked in the dusk – I’m the dew that meets the sunrise.
Smell me, taste me, feel me, breathe me.

Inhale – inhale.
Breathe.

Don’t you know? I’m the muse that gives the dawn
its minty kick. And I’m always there, but better
when you’re alone, talking to yourself
and crazy. Pass me the fifth baby,
before the day settles
and you miss me.

Never mind the never-mind’s
when we have this sleepless town
to dance and be depraved in.
The music calling, hips responding,
three missed calls on your neck
where my lips should be.