Erase me from that space.
The one behind your face.
Erase me from that space.
The one behind your face.
I walked downstairs with a giant cup of coffee in one hand,
and a plate of toast in the other.
By the time I reached the landing,
my yoga pants were around my ankles.
The triumphs and defeats of weight loss.
I want to come home. I’ve been away for so long. I almost forget what it feels like. But if I close my eyes tight and block out the noise…there…I’m almost there.
Complete and safe…in love and loved. God, where have I been? It’s not here in this place. I want to come home. Let me in.
Wandering around…chasing ideas of people and things. Ghosts and vapors of romantic ideas of some existence. I’m tired and I want to come home.
Trying so hard to create something…anything. I’ve drifted so far from everything. It’s lonely out in space. The fucking clock is starting to race. I want to come home.
I swam to the bottom of my glass.
Now I burp crimson bubbles and gaze at the stars;
I relent to the supple touch of your lips. My heart skips as they begin caressing mine while your finger tips dance on my skin; pulling me closer by my hips.
Heat seethes from my core to my face. You steal my breath and then replace it with your own; honey laced and luscious it resuscitates.
We linger locked together drifting. The memory of our space uplifting. Our magnetic polls shifting; through time we race to meet right here locked in this embrace.
My strength wanes with the moonlight.
It seeps into my pillow while my fears and insecurities rise in the darkness.
The tears then temper my steel.
And my armor hardens to nearly impenetrable by the time dawn comes.
Floating to the ground.
Transformed to brown, red and gold.
I fluttered away.
It pains me…sustains me.
It reigns me in and claims me.
It rails me…impales me.
It assails me and derails me.
The light that suffers a dark influence will not shine brighter in its ambiance.
You pain me…sustain me.
You reign me in and claim me.
You rail me…impale me.
You assail me and derail me.
Your light that suffers my dark influence will shine brighter in my ambiance.
What can I do.
This story is not new.
The wanting…the having…the leaving of you.
My heart frightens me…the way it wants…the way it craves; the way it encompasses all and how it slaves to be sated. Its perpetual voracity and endless capacity to beat in time and stop on a dime.
Its ceaseless yearning to consume is startling. Its gluttonous appetite is always starving. Pangs and aches carving through its chambers with surprising rapidity.
It harbors a sacred silence that only desire can know and abhors its deafening cries that denial provokes.
It’s a living breathing thing. It takes up space in my bed. It gets in the way of my my every day. It breathes and sighs. It swoons and cries. It fucks with my head.
My heart frightens me…Fuck it, I should just stab it with a fork.
Wasted days in want and malaise. Lost in a haze of your breath your kisses are like tiny deaths…freeing and relieving of all earthly care.
A descent to ascend beyond worldly parallels. I fell into hell to breathe fire in heaven and ride a dark horse on this carnal carousel.
I can’t find my way home yet I’m tucked in my bed. Running around inside my head, I am lost in the tall grass, chasing a phantom with my inhibitions shed.
The sadness that builds as I drift in your gaze I can’t hide. With time lost on the wings of dreams we glide and wander to meet in this maze of wasted days in want and malaise.
Every time I write I slowly come undone. Unraveling on a page from a beautiful handmade cable-knit, crafted by some old woman who lives in a small cabin on the jagged coast of Ireland, to a tangled distressed gnarl of yarn on the floor waiting to be swept.
But my lust for life and love keeps the broom at bay. And so at the end of every day the old woman picks me up and straightens me out. Wrapping me around her withered hand she relieves my knots and makes me smooth and workable again. Then by some miracle of sheer love or luck I get rewoven into some new masterpiece.
Only to come unraveled when I hit a snag the next day.
There are very few problems…
That could not be fixed…
By rubbing my face…
In your chest hair.
As I lay dreaming thoughts of you are streaming in a cloud like smoke. Unprovoked my mind wanders down the length of you and back again.
Drinking your lips and inhaling your breath. You make erect the hairs on my neck when your mouth nears my ear.
Whispering promises brings hope. On a slippery slope we tread lightly hands clasped around noose and rope with our lips locked tightly.
I search my memory for your grin. I can’t wait for this to end and for us to begin. Writhing around in my bed with your name on my lips I sniff the air for the scent of your skin but nothing’s there.
There’s a woman. You know her. She’s a woman you know.
She’s spent her life sweeping up her own wreckage. You know her.
You remember her face. Even when it’s hard to place.
It’s in your head more often than you’d like. Invading your space.
She’s a woman you know.
She is nothing. She moves through walls. You’ve seen her.
Rain soaked clothes she makes thunder when she calls. You’ve seen her.
Broken glass and bloody tattered rags at her feet.
She can’t seem to find her way home. You know…the woman you know.
You’ve seen her.
She stands before you naked and unsheltered. Still nobody helps her.
Lost she’s surrounded by miles and miles of flares…nobody cares.
Do you put your arms around her?
Or can you live without her and with yourself when you walk way and say…
I don’t know her.