Faint inclination toward yesterday's instigation, while sipping on tomorrow. Succulent, tender between lips of appreciation. Leaning back toward a cushion conditioned in leisure. Book tangled between fingers of delicate caress,ing words skate my head leaving me jealous infatuated.
I can see the obligation pacing outside my door, grimacing passive resistant. Side glance is all I can afford him now while Umberto wraps me up in carmelized fantastic, dripping of procrastinations aroma. The lazy rays shift here and there slicing shades, my room a discoball reversed, trees drop their burden on a wooden porch slightly neglected, feline affection warm next to my oversight. Sun clocks out leaving a cherry tinged cloud spray array, as if a red sock were washed with all those whites in my oblivion.

Glad I wasn't awake...
He picked me up from the airport. I ran away to forget, but then it all came back to me with the rush of freezing air. He had a strange radar on his dashboard that measured the frequency of his efficiency. It seemed to dance when I was in the car; a bright green light that whizzed and chirped and beeped out his life's meter. I felt stretched and trembling with your rigid demeanor and wished I'd taken a taxi. He asked me if I had love. I admitted my follies as I would to my confessor. He smile smirked at my heart's weakness, as if it were something to be considered in an application for a job that I would never get. Pulling closer to town, he claims marriage and finality and I sink a little because he thinks he's won. Sarah was her name, I think. He was towing her truck, a glossy replica of mine, now long gone. He seemed to wink in his approval of her substance. His green light highwired. If I had one, it blipped for a split. Nothing serious though. Nothing that would cause me to change my trajectory. When we met our destination, I got out, turned around and took the next taxi back home. As I walked away, his light turned off for the length of my distance, then continued on it's forced decision. I needed the unnecessary to show me what was missing. I won't miss it this time. If I had a light, I know exactly how it would look.

Because you're tall, and lean, and know what you are going to be doing tomorrow. You can see it.
Also, that you have a coat that you secretly love but will share one day. Those shoes too, and the hat that has a air of certainty about it, like it knows more than most. That, when you speak, I cling to it, like guitarist follows singer, hoping not to miss anything. Your words stroke me until I am sastisfied, I think, then a quick demand rises again. But also, when I speak, you nod to know and when I look away, I feel your eyes on me, appreciating. You read more than me, want to write me, cry, make music, jog faster than me (for shorter distances), live in a constant state of understated awe. And when you eat, it becomes a part of your existence, if only for a moment. When you read to me, when you sing to me, when you hold my hand and say forever. When you lick my pride and tickle my fears, when your words are soft because mine are too hard. Because you call your mother, when you hold the cat, when you water the plants, when you slip into everyone of my thoughts without me even noticing.
Thats why.

Baby, why'd you go? You left me here shrinking to disease, sinking toward a unending upending.
Muscles tear away, leaving bone and blood to fend for themselves. A warmth I knew acts a stranger, an odd addition wanting to leave when no one is looking. On a bench, in a place that should have none: concrete cushion, stealing heat and leaving a sobering chill. I look at the spectacle of alone, sore thumb is too small for this. Its like they know, and distance themselves.
I can take this though, nothing new. I can see an end to this end, and an opening in my optimistic imaginings. Nonetheless, that simple pain that is lodged between valves, that feeds on the body's breathing, is a burden that wears...

Solemn and right,
wooden in your non commital resistance;
plying you open for a chance at temptation.
Natural instincts compell you, and nothing else.
Yet I fascinate with the idea of tremulous intoxication,
of when the sun meets the stone on a day left undecided,
of when the sky hands the moon a chance at proximity.
Large, red and toxic in it's nearness and still I shake.
Fiberous filth saturates my reality,
choking my eyes,
pulling all hair on end,
waiting for results of a test I didn't study for,
seeking regulations,
seeking the deadline;
blindly and without regard.

Sweet thing,
between my strings,
slippin along some comfortable song.
I love you there, where I can't see you;
flip of sounds between my thoughts,
can't sing straight these days,
you swerve me solid and true,
undeniably waiting for...
A light lavender scents my days,
swinging soft and lucid
of your daybreaks and night takes.
Oh, that pull you bring,
closer every now and then,
enough to keep my breath.
Sigh it in, keep it a bit,
the flavor of forever,
s'worth the wait.

Red, in a row, crumb fragments of words, dissected ideas,

on display, a conveyor belt of my weakend fancy.

Pick one out, shiny new concoction,

peel back the protective plastic...

Strolling some walk, the sky striations of whispered softness,

the breath of the day swings past us,

admiring our stride as we admire its warmth.

"Strange for January."

Slow steps, anxious to wait; for another breath,

for a sign that your listening, have been all along.

Soon the dimmness dominates

and through it I see you there.

A soft placement of contentment

between your fingers,

between my contentious disbelief,

between moments of feigned distraction,

is you and I.

"Its gonna hurt," she said, "at first your gonna want to die, like the first time you bleed out of control, when you watched it come and come and you didn't know where it would end."
Jonathon wondered if that ever had happened before, but then he visualizes a scar under his chin that he earned at the age of four; before reality had set in. He hadn't mastered the brick wall in the backyard before the wall had mastered him. Nearly making it over the top, his velcroed shoes slipped, with the rest of him. He saw the top of the neighbors pomegranant tree before his eyeline was pulled away abruptly by his over excitement of being on top. He pictured his mother screaming more than him. He remembers her alarm, hysterics, lack of control as the warmth covered his yellow Seasame Street shirt and figured he knew what Anna was talking about, that loss of level, of knowing that it would be okay.
He had always been the type that wanted to know so that he didn't have to know what was beyond. He liked to know limits so he never had to extend past them. He often reflected on his life as if it were a resume; middle school: average, high school: average, college: average (if he ever finishes). Sterile remarks from teachers and professors, if they even remembered him. On the level, straight and narrow. But when he was with Anna, even level seemed bad; straight seemed predictable and narrow was the last thing he wanted. She was the opposite of all these things and he liked it. She was sharp enough to cut if you werent looking, kind enough to keep you interested, and always never, completely incomplete, hungrily starving, loud, unrestrained beauty in every sense of the word. Her, next to him, flavored his existence, made him cry for what he never did. The absense of her in his life made him desperate. The very idea of not seeing her tomorrow made him crazy, the kind of crazy that crack induces; gradual and without regard.
So he stepped forward, took it, and prepared for an experience he had only witnessed.

Sway between days of illicit longings,

judging the wind and finding it fair,

you stand tall and fine, away.

Limbs, a listless libido with no landing,

I crawl, then walk then run, then pause.

A brief stay, a breath away,

breathing you in,

eyes shatter what it was,

scents wag preconception,

touch; a misaligned memory,

relies to heavily on fragment facts.

But the wind knows;

the wind sighs, breathes, touches,

taints me forever with you,

you who stands there,

away,

without me.

1/2

While away, out, among, smokey, diluted, intox...

Fantastic flow, how it goes, when you are by yourself in a full room. I'm hungry for you to take me away by the sweep of your face, so we can finally taste this.

half face recreation makes you sigh for a silent frequency. I can remember a day when I couldn't get enough of your revelry, of your educated adultery. What did I do wrong...

Faberge Humpty Dumpty: If I had a flashlight I would look into you and find those broken pieces that no one wants glue to, but you forgot that trance that keeps things, that makes it whole; the thing that lets us stare up naked, up when the world sleeps, up when everyone is looking down;
that it's not the glue that keeps us, but the pieces, spread wide and apart.

Omar: We seem as Faberge eggs, but as people we aren't that way. we aren't pristine things to look at as beautiful. we are as we are: pretty, ugly, solitary, anything but pristine! We are tainted. Tainted as such! We should see each other as such. Are we an experiment on this earthy? Maybe. But whatever it is, our lives will continue regardless. I hurt, but so does everyone, it seems as were the blind leading the blind when asked about death. Love, life, death, it all ends the same, but booze and laughter make it all worth while.