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subscribeFriday, August 24
In between certain dreams I used to have, in the crawl space, in the nape of your neck, in the way the sun goes down on me, gently, I sit and read the warning labels in the red [sandy] sky above me. It's in between those soft, subtle behaviors that brighten our dusty mornings that it all really happens. When you come in through the door I left open, when you spit toothpaste in the sink, when you wear your head like that, when you blow it all away.
When I almost cry faintly, out of exhaustion, and sink into the good pillow, I feel you slide reach and fumble towards me. It still happens when I think about you. The clouds become objects and everything comes clean. The lime (on my lips) twists like the decorative piece in the center of every child's favorite marble. The cup overflows.
I know what it is. It's slow motion.
It's waking up next to you. It's those foolish thoughts like: this will never end (and you will never know). It's knowing that there is no mystery because all the walls have come down. It's walking, naked, in the twilight and accepting the ordinary moments in this extraordinary place. It's writing about blowjobs (in code) instead of love, because love writes itself. But mostly, it's one of those intractable tastes that can never be memorized.
It's (something like) an orgasm. It's better than the end of the world.
When I almost cry faintly, out of exhaustion, and sink into the good pillow, I feel you slide reach and fumble towards me. It still happens when I think about you. The clouds become objects and everything comes clean. The lime (on my lips) twists like the decorative piece in the center of every child's favorite marble. The cup overflows.
I know what it is. It's slow motion.
It's waking up next to you. It's those foolish thoughts like: this will never end (and you will never know). It's knowing that there is no mystery because all the walls have come down. It's walking, naked, in the twilight and accepting the ordinary moments in this extraordinary place. It's writing about blowjobs (in code) instead of love, because love writes itself. But mostly, it's one of those intractable tastes that can never be memorized.
It's (something like) an orgasm. It's better than the end of the world.
1 Comments:
I really like this one. It is balanced. And hitting. And gives me images and memories of time. Not much writing puts good images in my skull.
commented by 
Laura, 7:29 PM
Laura, 7:29 PM
