I've been drinking Merlot most of the night, writing, reading.
I am looking forward to returning to work tomorrow. After the long weekend and spending the better part of the day in bed with the flu I'm needing some stimulation.
I am very tired, both from the cold wind outside that I braved for my dinner a little while ago, the wine and the flu. I just want a shower and to fall asleep.
I just received an SMS, and the consequences of the knowledge repeated in it, of which I discovered a few nights ago have given me the idea to consider decisions I am making, carefully.
I do not love the person who sent me the message, but I do have a very soft spot for him. He was different when I saw him. I do not like that I still have emotion reserved for him, however scarce.
It is dangerous for me to know him, because he exudes a feeling I can't describe but is so familiar and too precarious.
I think maybe we have a connection that he is won't to admit to, and I am too exhausted to pursue.
We can be a survivor.
There is worse than a broken heart.
It heals itself without us waiting, or paying direct attention, it goes on its way
Not enduring, but joyfully.
I have not become
as if by happenchance
but willingly submerged myself in this.
Engrossed by you, if for all the superficial reasons I justify
crucify my under-the-breath said plans
to crumble and reverberate with the aftershock
the tremors that still walk through my skin
and make my blood sing.
I am tactile
and I need abandon
to feed these words
as if
some mild, timid, infertile bird
who regurgetates for the mothering feeling
and in turn
nourishes herself.
I want the strangest little glimmers
beside you, staring at your profile
I wanted nothing in the world for one moment but the funny, sudden desire
to hold your hand
And with your eyes closed you clutched my hand, and I felt those quakes for a moment
I am patient
and I am always watching
and I think
You want this.
But then you tore away
and left my hand empty
fingers scuffling over your (my) treasured chest
and I am left with memory
Watching you turning to me in the dark, and I thought, yes.
and We reconcile our bodies in the masts of these broken ships
these vagrant vessels
It has been months that we have soared in these hidden sheets
we share this with no one
and I do not want to
but viciously
and uncharacteristically
I want to speak your name and have you hear it
I do not love you.
I do not need you
I don't even want you
but something is match-struck
and I can't forget you
You don't go tumbling past old, peeling plantation shutters
on sultry afternoons
On the train home I imagined all the places left for us to brand
if briefly
with our smells and laughter
I don't think you will ever know
I think you are too scared, and even that is hidden behind a blind heart.
Maybe you like to be hurt.
Maybe you wear your memories differently.
I have had to be a stray
runaway
Pretend and articulate
the backgrounds and my reflections
subdued
Into submission
I liked it
You and your teeth
needle-feelings that prickle me for days
Even after I have said that you won't leave me
with ashes
But that is all I seem to capture from you
I have become strong
but where there is love
there is war
and I am smitten sometimes
carrying these shrapnel sex pieces
like I'm
or we
are chess
and I can't recover
covered in black and white
besotted with the greys
and you are even
in between that
You never speak my name
not even when I am underneath you
Exquisite
I feel your teeth
I hope you still feel mine
