Saturday, September 29, 2012

Skinny Love

My dear, I could try speak to you in my own words, but I find others more eloquent. And so I think I've found our anthem.

Please love, don't let me waste away on this addictive skinny love. Either cut me loose or come and take what I've already given to you.


What are we heading towards? You, me, spinning in separate worlds, designing our own universes, stopped by the limits of ourselves. Stopped by the limits of each other. What would you say if I told you I wanted you at the centre of mine?

You're still a blurry image to me, slowly coming into focus, bit by tiny bit. Every small discovery is a fountain of delight, every encounter as terrifying as the one before, but more enlightening. If I was a photographer, that's how I would take photos of you: focusing on the details of your body, so close it would be impossible to distinguish the rest of you; so close that every body who saw them would think themselves your lover and ache for you, though they know not who you are. I'll make them see you the way I see you. I'll make them want you the way I want you.

And you, oh, it's a struggle with you. How do I quell the addiction that I've formed with you? How does someone break a habit? For now I'm content with this slow gravitational pull towards one another; the problem is that I'm counting on a collision. What if we're two ships who just pass each other in the night, completely unaware of the other? I might not be able to put myself back together after I've crunched against the shore. What am I supposed to do if there's no more you in sight?

You're still standing behind a veil, you're still impossible to see. I have an outline, a general notion, but little else. What's going on behind those beautiful eyes? What thoughts do your neurons relay? What sparks desire, what stokes lust? Better yet, what entices love? Is there an edge that you're standing on, looking over the precipice down below? Do you feel the urge to step over it, into the empty space? And is it me you're hoping to see at the bottom? Are you, too, hoping that gravity will cause us to collide?

Friday, September 28, 2012

Lightning and Thunder

It's lightning and thundering and I am thinking of you. I wish you were here and I could light some candles and read to you in the dim firelight. We'd leave the window a little open to smell the earth dampening from the post summer day rain, sighing in relief as it cools.

It's thundering and lightning and I am here without you, thinking of all the empty spaces you leave.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Yours, Mine, Ours

I would like to do something for you - I would like to make you proud. There's nothing more that I could possibly want than the thing which I could present to you and say "this is yours. I did it for you".

Sunday, September 16, 2012


A whisper, a tear, a heated accusation.

A yell, a pause, a laugh.

A minute, a silence, a memory.

A scent, a touch, an obligation.

A moment, an action, a history.


You every so often fan the flames in my heart, till they flare and sear my lungs. And every time, they die back down, hoping that they'll get the chance to rise again.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Night Dancers

Let's have us a dance at midnight beneath a shimmering sky; you and I will twirl and your dress will billow out behind you. We'll stand at the top of a rich baroque building, monarchs of the sky, watching over those who do not possess what we have. We'll have the company of the statues which line the roof, and the moon, who smiles at us, her children.

You in a black dress, with a blood red flower in your hair, me in a three piece suit and a scarlet tie to match. We'll be a pair, don't you think? Rake your nails along my arms and I'll bruise your lips with mine. Recite murmured poetry in my ears and I'll growl you lascivious suggestions. Let your hand creep across my bare stomach and I'll start nibbling your neck. I'll pull you into me and push you against the balustrade till your dark hair fans over the precipice, staring into the beckoning space below. We'll become vertiginous, but not because of our height above the ground; I promise we'll be riding a different high.

No one will look up and we'll have only the stars to reign over us, winking as they watch our encounter twist and turn and writhe in pleasure. We'll choreograph as we please, changing the steps every time. If we wake up in the morning, purple where fingers grasped, then we know we'll have passed an excellent night.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Would You?

If I pretended I was a drummer, would you drum along beside me? If I pretended I was a wave, would you crest with me? If I pretended I was a flower, would you try to kiss the sun as I do?

Could we create our own beat and crash with our own sound, and touch a warmth that belongs only to us?

If I wanted to be a lover, would you let me be yours? Could I trace a forefinger along the length of your arm, down the centre of your chest, from your larynx to your navel? Would you shiver?

If I wanted a best friend, would you volunteer? Would you laugh at nonsensical statements and jokes that hardly make sense? Could I talk to you at midnight and be sure that you wouldn't mind replying and comforting me in my loneliness?

Would you laugh with me? Cry with me? Make fun of me when I deserve it? Would you talk about books and films and music with me? Would you invite me along when you go places? Would you smile when you thought about me when you were away? Would you miss me?

Would you say yes?

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Bodily Illusions

It's not about the moment, it's about what comes after. It's not about the blood, it's about the scar. It's not about the pain, it's about the feeling of healing. It's an illusion.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Skeleton Walking

Sometimes it would be nice to just rip the skin off my bones and walk around, a bare skeleton. Whatever festers inside can slink out, a mass of black tar against concrete. There'll be no more burning skin where a blade has scratched the flesh. There'll be no more fingernails to dig into layers and layers of cells until it reaches bleeding muscle. I'll have a life that I didn't have to dream of walking out of.