part deux...

3.26.8

I heard your infectious laugh but laughed at something at my table even louder to drown you out. I had to do something. Convince my table that I was smiling for some other reason than your childish, body-shaking laugh. I saw you as soon as you walked in but tore myself from looking at you so you would not see. Your clothes stained my sight. You always were too hip for me. More hip than anyone else in the room. I always thought that maybe you, yourself had started the hipster movement and everyone only followed your lead. Well, you're old enough for this to be plausible. I saw your signature all over this dim bar. A new hot spot for you and all of your followers. I had come first with you. Then after you, I realized all of my friends frequent this place too. Here we all are. Southeast side, hipster haven. My friends outnumbered yours four to one and even one of yours is mine too now. I've often heard, in reference to friends that it is quality over quantity. But I imagined a war between our tables, in which I won and you surrendered because even your best could not stand up to four of mine. You tried to catch my eye between laughter and whisperings. I saw you follow my hand from my knee to his hand and on to his chest. You shuddered but then regressed. I fantasized that you were re-imagining our sad, parting scene. I think you concluded that it was your decision and to leave me be. It doesn't make it easier, I know. I still think I should have fought harder for you. I think you were testing me anyway. I was just too angry to think that way. You said you thought of being with someone else when you were with me. That was enough to turn off to you, even though I never really did. I always thought you were so intuitive. So in touch. Yet, you were falling back into something that had hurt you so tremendously in the past. Who was I to judge though. I've been you. I've longed for that second chance with him too. The one we talked about. My inner struggle in that bar that night surrounds the harsh truth that your presence makes me weak to your glance and I unable move at your touch. I still fake it all to keep in rhythm with your pulsating energy. This is why I have to pretend that I don't see you there two feet away. I feel you, I don't have to look at you. I pretend I don't feel you the second you walk in. I go to these places with the hidden hope that I may run into you. Each night I go out, I think of running in to you. I made the choice long ago to let go of the only other to make me feel this way. I swore never again, if I were lucky enough to feel such a thing again. Here you are breathtaking and stealing the spirit right out of my wednesday. My friends say to ignore you but when you touched my elbow, your pulsating energy filled every part of me and I looked directly into your eyes until I rescued them into your dimples. I saw you do the same. You wanted to know who he was. "Good luck with that," you said. I saltily respond, "he calls me his best girl and no other girl interferes." The guy then asks if he can get me a drink. I decline, I've had enough already.

3.14.8

I repulse myself with these thoughts of you. You stress my organs to overdo themselves so I have no energy for anyone or anything else. Do you do that to her? I bet not. But she probably does it to you. We are the same, you see. I hope she does this to you. This triangle that brings suffering. God knows, with you, it is probably hexagonal or worse by now.

I will always look for you. In people, places and songs. I will write of you as though I still see you everyday. I still find you everyday. His jaw line, his stature. Some things are trademarked. Your bow legs, your laugh, your eyes, those Popeye arms and that glorious mouth of yours. Your smell remains the ultimate test. Unfortunately all have failed this part.

This coffee tastes like jam. I can't explain how. The hipsters love it. Give me Community Coffee any day. I'd prefer it anyway. You are a joy to know, but glad to not be a part of my life.

I prefer the little man. The one a little down on his luck. I like to try to save him though I know his breath is wasted.

All of this is making me bland as a person if I can truly even be that. Breaking the realities that are best left alone in order to achieve some better self. All so damn melancholy. Who said the suffering had to be come before the good. Before your body knows joy.


You have a look alike. I didn't know if you knew. Svelte and quick like you. Sandy blonde and piercing blue seers. His mouth is less fantastic than your gate of word. Word and kiss and breath. I look for it in him as replacement but it is no where on his vessel. Bring your ship back into my harbor so I may save you from battle and share your bottle instead upon your homecoming.

4.1.3

I watched him walk. His sculptured calves and folded white socks lost in old Adidas. His reflection hazy in the ancient yellow washing machines. The sun beaming outside whilst the fan and two open screened doors offered the only relief from the heat. The washateria felt as it might melt from the warmth reflecting from the pavement. I watched my hands move the quarters in rhythm with his steps. A quick smile and we escaped the heat for a relaxing day at the river.

4.25.3

Phone rings. Heart races. Breath quickens. Fingers shake. He's coming. Lights out. Head on pillows. Smile appears. Eyes brighten! Cheeks redden. Lips wet. Knock on window. Heart drops. Head's cloudy. Foot steps to the door. He comes in my room. Lays with me. Signals for the candle to extinguish. Darkness fills. Hand on my knee. Smell of him fills the room. Smell fills me. Crouched together we undress each other. Familiar hands on my abandoned parts. Then familiar hands on all of me. He's on me. I move on top. Breath taken from us. How I had tried to forget. He moves me around the room. I think I love him while he holds me. Kissing. Screaming. Biting my lip. He releases a satiating cry. It's over. We lay on the floor. Breathing hard. Dry mouths. Holding hands. Heads nestled against each other's. Sleep. I listen to his breathing patterns change. Deeper. Louder. Heart rate astonishing. His smell still infecting the room. I can't love him. Too much right now. This can't happen anymore.

5.3.3

Grazing, dancing, trying to win, learning to cry. Imagine the time. Shiny and fast. Slow to come. Easy to lose. Not planned. Glory. It's good to be great, found, unattached. Here, there, gone, taken. I'll find it and keep it. Don't break it. It was disposable after all. Circus red, yellow clowns, people laugh, clap, fall. It's fake and worn. Try it. Go ahead! The wind's blowing, so what? It climbs black and then invisible. See through. Come back! She can't. Too late now. Balloon's escape. never will the world see it climb again. Blue coming. All is cleared.

9.10.7

He couldn't tell her that he knew her mother. He definitely couldn't tell her that he knew the delicate curve of her shoulders and back were exactly like her mothers. And this moment would end for him if he revealed that she fucked like her mother. She tried to balance her young frail frame on his lap. Up and down, she was clumsy but passionate. He smoothed her long blond hair against her breast and comforted her. But it was she who had been playing him all along.

9.11.7

carefully I've performed for you.
its part of the routine.
I show you parts and string them together with wit.
then when you're happy with the first act, it's on to act two.
Much more personal. Much more involved.
Now it is audience participation that moves the rest of the show.
I act, you react. and visa versa too.
Here we balance realism and mockery until we find our niche.
Come and dance with me little piper, for surely I will follow you backstage.
Backstage where the makeup melts and the costumes disappear
and its just you and me with no lines or steps.
the house lights come on bright and we can see all we need to now.

9.12.7

I don't know how but you did!
you came back in a different form but you were clever.
Careful to come back as something so familiar, yet new.
you knew i'd be intrigued and right o!
I feel you in his touch, and taste you in his kiss.
there is one thing though that you have missed.
his smell is nothing like you
plus his words give it away.
Also, he's asked me to stay.

9.12.7

I'm forever bound to the thought of finding that thing that is new and fresh and makes me feel my anatomy from the inside out. The kind of act that makes me notice some new sensation for the very first time. I secretly ask myself, what is that thing that you are doing? What are you pushing against? Just as I try to recall ever feeling it again, I'm suddenly so overcome with pleasure that I don't care that I can't explain the feeling, I just focus on this brief amusement and let you have your way.

9.12.7

Tracing your bends and folds with my fingers followed by my hair as I move my lips, then fingertips, then my following hair down god's trails put on your body just for me. I'm intranced by everything that drives me to go further. Farther down, deeper, into those places that get the least amount of daily contact. The places that if exposed make old friends ackward and new friends into boyfriends and girlfriends. You give me reassuring moans and I feel you grow beneath my chin.

9.13.7

So it happened that the thing I feared became the thing I desired and the thing I tried my damnest to avoid was the thing that I couldn't wait to hold in my very own hands. Where were you. Why didn't you share this with me.

9.14.7

Black and gray, and corporate. sleek, slender and educated. Smelling of leather and newspaper with a hint of expensive cologne. you know who he is, or you could guess at who he might be. He pretends to read, but is watching just like you. your jeans look faded and sadly ripped next to his pair of designers. You suddenly become aware of every wrinkle on your clothing and every stain. What does he think as he sits next to you, you wonder. Perhaps he's intrigued by someone who has trouble dressing themselves when he does it with such ease. Perhaps he's disgusted. Either way, his newspaper will always be more expensive than mine.

12.4.7

There are so many irishmen here i must surely have gone trans-atlantic. Drinking Guiness in chilled pint glasses printed with the same name. Guiness pints with not more or less than 1 1/2 inches of foam before the black golden beer. they haunt places with such names as S.Kellig, and the Druid. They go by Shamses, Mickey and Sean. Freckles and blue eyes that can burn through you. Jolly and singing, dancing and falling down. They catch the eye of every girl and call her lovey. They are behind the bar, on the bar, and out in the pub. Well dressed and hair amiss. I find one little irishman to keep warm with through the snow. His blues burn brightest of them all.

12.4.7

running up the old wooden steps, all different lengths, and reaching the screen door, we've arrived. More later. You'll feel at home. Wrapped in warmth and well fed.

12.4.7

when you find the time, sit down and write words to move me. i want to see scratch outs so that I can understand your thought process better. Understand you better. Maybe when you get some time you can write it all out, I have nothing but time to read now. I broke my television and invested the scrap parts money into records. Now I look to be moved in every form of literature. The side of my coffee cup, the ingredients of my shampoo. I crave words from your fingers and mind. I will picture your lips forming the words and how twisted your mouth looks while you shape the sentences as you write them. I'll picture your cup of coffee grown cold and sitting patiently next to your legal pad. I'll imagine winter surrounding you outside of your downtown window. I know you long to be on the farm with the children at your feet while you show them how to feed the chickens. You'll get distracted thinking of this very scene and pick up again somewhere in page three. I don't know where to find you anymore in this real world we walk in everyday. In the world where I know you, the sun never sets and the snow never makes you slip and fall. Only falls delicately on your shoulders and in my hair never melting. We play in the snow never to feel the weather cooling our skin until it shows red. the sky is not gray during our snow storms but crystal blue. the sun making the snow glisten like storefronts. in the same snow day, we change into our bathing suits and tackle the hot river. We can swim a sort of dance together that only we know. It is never cold, never lonely in this world of ours. Why would we care about knowing each other in the real world when we can delight each other here.

12.5.7

Somewhere in Connecticut I find the sun again. I remember what grass without snow looks like though the trees are still dead. your blue eyes bring me back to boston every time.

7.15.7

Surpassing my lips in preference of my cheek and raising my hand to your lips over my knees instead. Shaking your head with a smile gorgeous and broad and white and spanning bridges. Each white gleaming tooth rising concrete cross ties and a sunset stretches on the other side. So inviting and unique to last only one day. yet I run to the other side knowing it will fade and knowing I cannot return.

7.24.7

Saving and craving laughing and playing i ask to hear and not to know. if it ever falls apart you will have far more bullets than i and so i remain your silent prisoner waiting for the savior that will save me and bring me solace to my happy prison of arms for holding and lips for so much more than kissing...for stories and sincerities and compliments and resulting blushing. As a prisoner the sun is never missed and I need not even any food.

7.30.7

It awakens me at night, this wanting thing. things of beauty are hardly ever missed. whether their beauty is shouted from the towers or just a thought tossed with a stone, the energy surrounding beauty is exclusive and pure in thought; ruined only in action and never compromised for the sake of demise alone.

2.25.8

Set into motion

I saw you once at work

Fashioning some odd potion

Your lovely face with a dangerous smirk.

I sat beneath the tree

You there with your giddy laugh

We were together free

And there gone in a flash.

Transported to a field a-bloom

We gathered flowers and seeds

Placed into a bottle in your room

Your mother called them weeds.

Onto your bed we fell

Like children tired from play.

Quietly whispering not to tell

And all was part of the best day.

11.29.7

I will never be able to escape the beauty of his music that resonates in my mind for it broke my mortality.

11.30.7

Strong and Complex

Unattainable yet approachable.

Surprisingly I found you were weak and simple.

This is my guide to achieving you as retained and unapproachable.

12.5.7

Make time for sheltering hidden winds of spirits that blow and turn turbines of worth.

1.22.8

Saw You Today

I saw you in a stranger's eyes today.

So I made him my lover, so I could find you again.

I felt you again.

I even played our song while I kissed him like I used to kiss you.

It ended for me when his smell was not your intoxicating trademark, but that of a stranger.

Suddenly his hands were foreign.

His voice a burden.

He wanted more but I felt too dirty to continue, and surprisingly satisfied with myself for that.

2.26.8

Go ahead and say something terrible.

Terrible words spilling from your lovely lips.

Lips of petals and still present thorns.

Thorns that yield my own wounds and blood.

Blood boils at the sight of you not.

Not for me alone but your following.

Following you north and south, back and forth.

Forthcoming rewards to those who wait.

Wait for you to be there and show.

Show up with a single flower picked.

Picked in a near field as an afterthought.

Thought to be intentionally romantic.

Romantic you are but try not.

Not your style and makes you the lead.

Lead you’d rather follow in a chase of love.

Love has made you bewildered and jaded.

Jaded to flowers and compliments.

Compliments her kneecaps on stems of ivory.

Ivory arms and face, and breasts I can only imagine.

Imagine your hands touching her with callused fingers.

Fingers with more knowledge than your mind of some things.

Things can be felt in the dark when not seen by your eyes.

Eyes of light and dark patterns that spell your confines.

Confines you to the life you had, have and will have.

Have a nap with me so I can be next to your dreams.

Dreams I can never be in.