"Star Crossed" It's dark outside and we have no audience. I suppose these are the moments ... one presumably could afford to miss. Nights when raindrops trickle to serve well as visual distortion now observe diminished portions.
Two singular. The child's finger frantically tracing the images in her brain displayed beyond her window panes. Streaks of energy drawn from affinity untamed. I barely know your name but I wonder how you sound reciting mine to request attention. Contention so simply ignored that no afterthought was stored.
You burn bright to command my sight. Knew nothing and expected less than. We can ignore the streak but the remnants will linger. Maybe that child's finger will document our impending collision. Vision is a loaded concept, after all. The fear of falling once so ever present is now relegated to the essence of what memory will not acknowledge. Knowing that you're glowing makes the fall much more enticing. Your inviting hue as you blew past fast enough for blinks to rob the anxious I instead chose to experience in one breath. Left to my own graces, I'd likely pursue until the faceless you offered countenance. In my confidence, forever is less than adequate. So we soar high and we fall fast and the light crawls. We've let time pass too much not to take full advantage. I have perceived you too rare not to plot one's path toward. If only this weren't so hard.... We know what we want and learn where to find it but never plan for what sits behind it. In my most powerful of influences, I still doubt I'd have ever drawn close to anything that resembles you and for that I am fortunate. A rare sight before these willing eyes. A surprise I've grown familiar with. A love warm enough to feel lifetimes away before seeing it for real. You appeal to my dreams with the very mystique that child observes in the streaks that decorate the sky at night. Color bounces then fades behind you. If fortunate enough, I'll be traced to find you up high where the stars can't climb. Our own atmosphere and should the day come when you would again cross my path, I intend to draw you near. Streaks of glow that crawl forever. In our distance, we could care less about stormy weather when we fall together.
They looked on and then scattered. Glass shattered as makeshift molotov invoked dispersion alongside tear gas and the flash of burning vehicles.
I want off now but I can't pinch myself hard enough to divert my vision from the endless river filling the streets much faster than that August afternoon nine years prior.
So I sit here and observe nerves pushed past the brink whilst I sink into the background silenced by the sound seen in mouths that scream inconceivable fear and anger. Danger all but a conclusion forgone for a multitude of those at home with martyrdom and misconception misconstrued amid the deception that their last resilient purpose is to hide that they are nervous in honor of a service perceived to achieve a goal that they drive further from in unison.
I just want to sleep one night without the plight of this life threatening to drag me under altogether. All together, they implore and ignore simultaneously to satiate their sacrifice of sanity. The charity of "may they rest in peace" followed thereafter by anarchy in the streets.
The plow and pillage of a village responsible for their own sown seeds and the direction those roots will reach.
This cannot be reality. This....tragedy. I frantically await the day when the sun will impart rays to free me from what I imagine can only feasibly be a fabrication.
Did I drown from the water splashed across my face like the blood that has traced the very trenches I reside in? Should I rive in fear and shed tears with those whose clothes are tattered with loved ones murdered by the guns they now refuse to relinquish?
Time far from extinguished and I'm drifting. Can't seam what seems and can't see through this sea. Tumultuous tide embracing me as I float away helpless.
HELP ME. I NEED TO WAKE UP.
For viewers who love to shake up the reality and the outcome, where their mouths are from and why their speech shouldn't be free, chosen strategically until upheaval gives way to a wave of people who we've seen routinely tarry suddenly rally around a common hatred. The chosen weapon against this faction a well placed media distraction. Some distortion in generous portions to salve the numb with pop culture while the battle lines are drawn.
I myself used to fawn over such a sight.
The trend of nightly sounds replaced by the demonstrative pace of footsteps overflowing with vigor. The bitter taste of rage torn from every page as if there was a deadline for one to capitalize on headlines with some nerve to lash out. Gone are the days when one would look to hash out a much more amicable solution without the call for retribution.
This revolution was never fantasized.
These shoulders have grown weary and I can barely stay up. All that surrounds me is dreary and I've no will to raise my head up to reveal misty eyes far too exhausted to cry. Should I gaze upon anything else, I would look up to the skies amid this trouble and discomfort. Not with words to say. Just in cautious delay waiting for God himself to say
whether or not these are our days or if I'm still sleeping........
I'm here on my back and you voluntarily can't breathe. What we need acknowledged. Honest and bare.
Would swear on it all that I wouldn't get that phone call. It obviously was never enough to simply eliminate the bluff. Stuffed me deep past airways like days trapped in limbo. the window barely predicting patterns. Like a lantern's wick embracing flame, your name escapes my lips like embers drifting from the furnace. Furnished well across this bed. No clearer head for what we've said.
Vision fancied and enjoyed until tangibly employed. No repentance. Toyed with senseless and it all made sense to we. Shape and color happily distorted in lieu of what we've purported. To this day, I still can't ignore it. Recollection of my body contorted in surrender of released tension that you'd ambitiously dismember.
Understand why I choose to remember....
Grasping moments daily where time can stand still whilst I briefly relive the thrill of a fine mess well made. Cloaked under the thick shade of racing minds and your eager lips. Gently kissed the tip as you latch onto my hips. Soaked lap and cool air. fist full of your hair and guidance all my own. You knelt at the altar just to knock over the throne. Home alone in welcome company. Hopefully, no one would come for me
before I did the same for you.
Siphoned my soul whole and replaced it with a new fresh exciting enticing igniting of fire I never knew existed. Couldn't resist even if I had the nerve to ignore the time reserved beforehand.
Your hands.
Surveying the surface with precision. Timeless movement under conditions that most would squander in anticipation
but not you.
Watched you fondling your fixation with a purpose only disclosed after seeing that the morsels of your labor never make it to your clothes. Closed mouth well fed. Still on my back. Spinning head. Nights since then my skin glows red sitting at the edge of this bed....
....thinking about all that led us here.
If it never happens again, rest assured. I will remember. This I won't return to sender.
"Blender" You try to ignore it all as it falls around you. You focus on me. ... They look over to see you step down from that pedestal like the Herald of a diety. They praise you like the celestial and mock you like the harlots they indulge in.
For so long I was sickened. Listened to their invites but was quickened to say no. I'd rue the day that I would go and here I am spinning this gaunt story. You feign intrigue and flaunt before me. The surrounding taunt my measures and rationalize their guilty pleasures. Treasured nothing of this manner. The theatrics hardly matter. Pretty girl here twirling faster swirling helpless as men chatter. Fatter pockets dictate time. Scaled back reason. Salvaged rhyme to flail before them like wind chimes. Make this fortune in your prime. Get this money. Start the show. Hide that tarnish. Make it glow. For the years that tears must flow, Do your best before you go. Mess of millions marked and bundled. Watch your step or you might tumble. No breakthrough for damaged goods. Count it up then place your hood overhead and avoid strangers. Day to day an increased danger from the ones who rob and loot to those looking for recruits. For so long I was sickened. Eyes become hands and the plot thickens. Meeting them at a premium. For certain, closed curtains are costly but only one can afford it. No one will ignore it. On the verge once you emerge to observe the newly intrigued. Besieged under their teeming enchantment. You can't but they know you will. They've laid rumor to your skill and expect you to act accordingly. Your name and age are secondary when the main stage becomes necessary. Faceless angel with a past somewhere buried under cash. Flashed a bit under the spotlight. Hid the pressure on those hot nights when cold liquor takes a spill. Trembling hands outline their thrill. Gaudy shrill in all the rapture of attention I have captured. They cheer on. I take the chance. Lucky me for this lap dance. They implore that I enslave you. No intent but I won't save you. You've no true interest in me. Do your deed. Collect your fee but glancing back, you just may see where my hands and eyes will be. This service. Disservice. A little nervous. Eyes fixed on fawn and the fixture. The meshing. The mixture. Lasting picture of each day. Pick it all up and walk away.
Painstakingly, I recall past instances and even times more recent when I perceived your efforts decent enough to believe they were sincere. Crystal clear one's vision whilst the other darts between one gleam after the last dashed glimmer of hope destined to revert to particles of smoke. Dreams so dry and deliberately driven marred by the shelf life of wishes previewed and unforgiven. Your eyes are drawn to the shine but can't manage to muster what comes of those clusters once they begin to lose their luster.
Now your murmurs find me.
Within the moon's reflection, you call out to me.
Tone and inflection once inviting... ... enticing even. Sufficient more so now that I remain derelict to your requests. Your quest for recovery a rather inconvenient discovery of one's penchant for incompetence. Compliments stalled and angrily sprawled under the increasing disbelief that our interactions could be this brief even when you display grief. No creaking desire to salve and I won't open the valve and I can't always be there and trust me: life isn't fair.
Well,
neither is love for that matter.
Now you pull away from me.
Under the brilliance of the sun you feign your contempt for me.
The burn. The churn. The malaise in every phrase. So pretentious. Clearly fazed. Grazed your fault as you vault over fence lines and chain links we've forged at the brink of our nonsensical pattern of behavior. Time the only savior remaining for one so inept at retaining an inkling of realization.
Our farce is your fixation.
Yet I ask if you think of me.
Lit wick and slow burning fire. It tires but it will not die. I don't even ask why anymore. This lonesome chore of recant. Said that we can't but we do and who are we to judge in the first place? Told truths about love in that first taste.
Distasteful displacement. Kept pace with each other's transgressions; ready and anxious to dish out lessons that we still have yet to learn. That foolish yearning for a destination. No room for transformation when one seeks out transportation instead of the will to stand still.
Us in our current state.... ...... too late. Very little about us is sufficient in this setting. I tire from the unrelenting: repenting after repeated trips through the black water we've waded in. Dark matter followed by nervous chatter barely quelling a flame that shouldn't burn.
So turn away from me. Please. I don't trust myself. I need your help.
Amnesia hoped for to no avail. Desperate ambition so frail. Pale the pigment of dashed will. There was once thrill in hiding; presiding over each other in conceal. Skin worn this thin reveals to the glancing what we shouldn't feel so we drape ourselves in torn restraint. The discomfort a necessary accessory. Despondent accompaniment of the essential.
Even as we've laid here bare, my perdition is hanging over there.
Recalling days when we treated fear like foreplay before the blind. The kind of mockery none are proud of. Love harder to find with garments removed. Proven true in how I still look at you. Would deny myself before letting you see these eyes so dry from evaporated lies that I still cannot rinse clean.
Inadequate that we be seen together. Weather too perfect. The birds have flown on for the evening. No torrent for purposeful distortion. A small portion of time granted that should have been recanted for the sake of those involved.
We are what cannot be resolved. We prod. We poke. I provoke. You dishevel. We choke. and regret. and repent. and resent ourselves.
They sit on shelves like ornaments for celebratory means. Still their disposition disposable for one's dangerously wavering countenance. Compliments collected in fashion whilst working to save face. I now grace this world with a shroud. Once proud of what the sun illuminates, I now await the darkness I wasn't fond of. Found love and confused it. Used it to an obscene degree.
I can barely see and breathe but this cloak you cannot read. Restoration crushed like seeds under feet tangled in weeds. Preservation of our leads. Blind before me yet you see
The fear is out. That means the ear is out of frequency. Public indecency in the form of a profitable norm that we have yet to recognize and I've no reason to sympathize with the often uninformed. This ignorance is uniform. You don't need case in point. You are the bullet point, the frame of reference and the evidence to support it.
Recall when anthrax was purported: Still couldn't pay the taxes and the stamps still aren't free. That envelope was for me but you opened it anyway. Threw mayhem into the fray so the government had to say it was an epidemic manufactured under the backers of biochemical warfare. There's always war somewhere. The canisters and casings in large amounts are only days away from the bank account.
Fear is profit for malevolent means. Dreams become nightmares. Despair much more tangible than the hope we cast aside thoughtlessly. A world of fortune found in the notion that we can't survive the scare or we can't go anywhere for sake of being quarantined: taped off like a new crime scene and it will be the headline. There must be a deadline for dishing out decrepit dissemination. They claim to inform the nation. They want to "keep us in the know" while they show those tears instead of saying show no fear and be intelligent about it all.
Now we sprawl and crawl and run away and say "GET AWAY" to those just as misinformed as we: lack luster personalities who could care less about your fear or your tears or the outcome. They sneer and watch the crowd run. Did more with proclamations than a burglar with a handgun. They'll claim the truth in a joke just to watch you choke air back, throw on masks, tie your hair back and dust off the safety goggles.
All the while, powers that be toggle between powers that free and messages that enslave the gullible. They know what trends look colorful and make no amends for how the media presents it. Resentment in every social media post about a contaminated commercial flight followed soon thereafter by fright or anger. The newsroom your manger complete with a trademark social networking pacifier. Proud supplier of mass hysteria.
An area reserved for research has become bogged down in t-shirts and collectibles and banners and a walk to cure breast cancer and an ALS donation is an ice bucket demonstration. How well tracked are all the proceeds?
I'm done with tact so let me proceed:
Gimmicks noosed around your neck when you could just cut the check. Controversial yearly omen and you know nothing of Susan G. Komen. Years spent on research and development and we've yet to reach a settlement concerning a sufficient timetable. When will the willing become the able?
Locked away one day will be the remote controller strategically set to Ebola along with Anthrax and other shock value relics like venereal strains reportedly discovered in a land where mothers cling to the corpses of their fallen and we're all in to find a cure in countries where the water isn't pure.
I speak not from the realm of conspiracy but rather from the angry hearts and minds of those of us who will not accept the norms. Don't give me medicine until it harms and must undergo a massive recall.
We Call You Out NOW.
We are not encouraged by your medical trials. Our loved ones are out on a fringe. Someone may fly off the hinge after a binge on your fear filled vials
Just right. Just ripe for the picking. The hands move so slow that I can feel every tick tock. Thoughts rock back and forth between the last and the next embrace in a time frame. A sort of mind game. An office space chess board and I'll move the pawns if you tell the rooks to back off. I'm back off and anticipating. Suspense truly deflating but I've lost no portion of interest. After awhile, you'll walk by and hopefully say "Hi" and I'll have a response for once better than this cheesy grin and a stare that tells of sins I'd commit with you in public settings. Momentarily forgetting that communication is a two person endeavor. Mixed well within the trances of clever advances rarely noticed by those around us, chance appears as if to taunt us; flaunting shamelessly when we're alone, deliberately dangling the bone before you as if surrender is incentive.
As you wish.
Fish for compliments. Acknowledgement. Accomplishment of the biased. Your favor my ace in the hole. Some control is in order. Wouldn't dare defile the borders unless you cut the ribbon first. No concern for the worst when given the best chance to quench our thirst. Endless invitations. Situations created against means of convenience. Consistent yet overt so I always wonder who's seeing this. All in for the plans. I don't need the risk but we want this moment. Said I won't be sorry. I won't need any atonement. Just the will to want it more. Occurrences only explored in my mind until now. So the plot thickens like this bulge when you bend over. After this is over, we'll have thoughts to ponder during business hours and nights barely sober.
As you were.
My oft revisited memory. Obscenities once imaginative retain seclusion but have become tangible. Fanciful occurrences I've thought of in detail adorned with deep yells and fulfilling sighs.......... now completely before my eyes. Well worth the effort. Weathered the pressure and held onto mystery tightly. This cover is slightly blown gently to the edges of discovery. Concern yourself not with recovery but rather on how long. How long will it take for us to replace this encounter with the next. Passers-by in busy hallways. Days trickle from the calendar slower than your remnants did before my unruly consumption. The challenge is not in their assumption but rather in their inability to uncover. Lovers of the danger that begets perceived strangers given very little means but still able to wipe the slate clean. I honestly don't care about who else has gone this far. For what we do, I'll receive you....
Can't color your anger illness. No condition for listless demeanor. Sweet dreamer of sabotage secluded in camouflage haunted by your own shortcomings. Accountability that of foreign plains you'd never claim to tread. Would count the times instead of even the most obvious of blessings. Dressing up before facing a world of those who look past blush and curls for some semblance of inner beauty. Their favor you desire yet you let the worst transpire before those who bear no notice.
The depth of your spite. Contrite never. Only clever in your calmer musings. Perceived yourself confusing when engaged in internal conflict. Coupled leisure time with thoughts of how to keep them in the barrel. The mind surely travels far for what it stands to gain little of. Lust for love with no means of gain.
Just blame.
A name etched into the green clean across the room from you. Grievance all that you implore. Those concerned ask for more but "they don't understand."
Do they?
Who knew they had to, honestly?
Their daydreams of grandeur you dismiss as blasphemous idolatry until your chance at such is revealed. Filled with emotions as thick as potion climbing up beneath your chin, drying up from deep within. No lotion to greet the skin.
Tie them up to watch them faint. Line them up and make it quaint. Cleanest halls you wish to taint. Washed the walls but not the paint. Sit there lonesome over dinner. Quash the Saint. Embrace the Sinner. Spinner of dark thoughts purported to the point of true importance.
Vengeful actions ill advised. Will to wade beneath the eyes of bound and broken, desperate cries in some sick plot to realize that misery and singularity are non-productive forms of therapy. The cost of clarity too steep. You wash your face with tears they weep
and still can't get rid of the stains. Guilt rests deep within your pores to the point where you make sure that the wall isn't green anymore.
Her innocence a laughing matter. Usual chatter among men who befriend her with ulterior aspirations aimed at the interior. How fickle the mind becomes sitting next to its heart still struggling to stand within their contrived hands.
With every invite accepted, the plan becomes ever simple: They connect dots with her freckles whilst complementing her dimples. They grab and slap her ass. Her pretentious laugh creeps out until reminded of her past. Now she's left to think about where she may have lost herself and how far back she must trace in some lost hope of saving face.
She was taught to hide her fault.
Inadequate the sullen seductress. Her will once fully honed is no longer her own when thrown against the wall like the least of clothes worn. Disproven are her stints of independence. No country for the headstrong.
Told her she'd never last alone;
but few men would ever want what most have prodded through. Tossed about with little doubt that she has a right to refuse. Abused by big, brown eyes and the broadest of shoulders………… self-proclamed servants of mothers that she playfully called "Big Brother" that would love when kid sister is forced to call them "Mister." No concern to kiss her tears away. A little less fear today.
Just moments of humiliation.
Asphyxiation of the worst degree: A smile for all to see mixed with laughter and cheerful banter. Enchanter of the wholesome hearts that know nothing of the lonesome lines that mar the countenance she has strategically hidden from the world.
Unfurled in silence after violent encounters.
Makeup on the counter strewn between garments torn that were worn to entice. Her penalty. Her penance. Her price of admission for guilt to remain trapped beneath quilts eventually as stained as the pain that coats her face. The strain of tracing lines atop the scars of shame unspoken.
Somewhat sufficient mask until broken.
Never chosen for her favor unless her labor incites pleasure. Treasure no one ever claims. Trapped and throttled. Marked and maimed. Famous for decrepit deeds that serve only to sow seeds that are stamped out before bloom.
Whispers in a crowded room.
Her innocence a laughing matter. Fashioned her the frequent punchline. They fit her into time lines for the sake of story telling; sparking interest and intrigue. Beleaguered with rumors that surface. Left to succumb and forsake her purpose
before she ever truly learns it.
She now believes she's earned this. She no longer fights to see through this nightmare she calls her dream. In her silence, she still screams.
"Trees(Redux)" The color of envy you've siphoned within me bled out into your quarters... where branches once viewed as borders now carry the odor that has defined your guilt. Wilted in the thousands are the flowers that have dared to bloom near what we've built and if plowed among the plenty, I would wish at least a century if guaranteed that we would not share plains. We have gained far few than what "I Love You" can salvage. The bark is chewed and worn. The roots are ripped and torn easily from such meager sediment we've convinced ourselves was foundation. What fortifies us now I find no good will to murmur. You: The ever skillful converter taking every farce you see, digging up reality to hide it substantially beneath soil that rain will not acknowledge.
We have effectively defined bondage, You and I as a means of growing high enough to pay homage to the Creator while defiling the Earth that verily proclaims her will. Stand still and time will not. It will eat until we are hollow. You only follow nature's plan until it demands reconcile. Bitter bile our tasteless leaves. They would make the starving heave. They scale us until sick then use us as the wick to prelude their bonfires. Love for hire and affection stacked in bundles chopped and tumbled into portions until tossed into the ocean to quell the stench of burning remnants no longer deemed useful. We were once so fruitful. Ambition changes with direction like the inflection of chimes that dance under more violent currents. Uprooted, we hope to start again but the wind exposes all. All that shakes will surely fall if not firmly planted. Your enchantment felt under my skin like sap imparted from stem to trunk. Used to scale my branches as if in search of the sweetest spot on earth. Now more fashioned as hearth or as scraps before the furnace, your earnest is an urn for me; harvesting purposely until I'm cast beneath the sea without room for cry or plea. If life would ever learn of we, They wouldn't etch love into trees…………
You stand tall in the blackness. Scale tall walls in my absence. Their hearts will crash and you command their axis. Occupational practice. No flashes. No cameras allowed. Never a name endowed with stills. You have skill and intend to show me more than. I your only set of eyes. Feel free to close the door then.
Fancied you my private dancer prancing about this dimly lit room you have filled with your perfume with every step you take. Cared less if I were awake or still somewhat daydreaming. I'm teeming with anticipation. You rive in my frustration. I thrive on the elation and you have yet to touch me.
"Suddenly" is nonexistent.
Surprise no longer insistent. I persist and you take my time. I insist and you let tension climb. The apex so far from now. I tug at buckles and you allow it. Not one word spoken but you speak louder in gyrations. The vibration of synonymous pulses.
Likened you to frequency.
Finer tuning with each visit. Limit slowly fades with each performance. Inclined to new tones set that threaten what I thought I knew. Movement so concise. So new. Blew me away gently to the edge of this bed. Head full of things I pray you've drawn no profit from. Unspeakable acts one can't fathom. My tongue you've claimed as ransom.
You stand tall in the blackness. Scale tall walls in my absence. Can't miss what isn't revealed yet I still ask what is concealed should I find reason to awaken. I dream of you in closed quarters: Your wet skin and black lipstick complete with fancy frills, arms exposed to the chill of this room conditioned for comfort, eyes that control the soul within and heels that pierce the hearts of men.
Men who denounce your rare design.
Nothing benign in your approach. We've drawn close enough to warrant an embrace but only your face is within reach. Incentives granted with each increment in our proximity. I your only guest implicitly watching you perform explicitly with hands bound to my belt. Felt yearning in your movement in tune with my relentless hunger.
I can't breathe and that excites me.
Entice me the entire night. The sun will witness what your acts have garnered. Power inconceivable. Passion as unbelievable as it is palpable. Your lace illuminating every place I intend to taste. Under street lights our shadows flail with energy, grace and rhythm.
They become whole. They bend. They fold. They mesh so well with lust between them. I have yet to see them worn better than who leans in to me. Could not conceivably pretend to be as collected as I may appear.
I sometimes wonder what brought you here…………
…… standing tall in this blackness. Still scaling walls in my absence yet with no profit for you to claim, you polish locks and chains, bind yourself all the same and let me find the key. If the world was mine to own, I would trade it for this moment. The chance to graze hips with the same lips used to remove lapels and zippers. Consumed by blinks and whispers. Leather sticking to your inner thighs. Look into my eyes whilst I peel back this disguise of dominance you've adorned for gain. Break the chains with fervor. Move free for me to see everything I've yet to imagine.
If this were hinged on necessity, I'd be far less playful when addressing my desire. Wouldn't skirt around the truth. Would relinquish all the details. I'd be frail within your grasp. Hands clasped to your arm like all else seeks to harm me.
Instead, I am charming when I visit. You're exquisite. We know no limits. Explicit jokes with a splash of truth and a slice of fruit beneath the ice cubes in your glass. Is this what one considers class or am I too crass to exude such?
Touch as rewarding as the conversation. The elation you contain I collect like grains of rice before the waiter takes our plates. Far too late to walk alone. Besides that, we're in a zone that lasted hours after closing. Topics under your controlling: Are my parents in good standing, do I ever get demanding, do I like Cognac or Brandy, what's my favorite type of candy?
So varied your interest. So keyed in on your angles that you're surely wondering why I have yet to tell a lie so you can dig me out. You hear what is said but if you were in my head, we'd have less time for talking.
Yes. I'm that sure. Selective with my confidence to the point where my compliments have become secondary to your intent for me. The extent of your imagination inflates to the point of rupture. The flood gates briefly stalled with crossed legs and a head hung low with one arm as its crutch.
You've barely concealed that mahogany blush.
Save me a smile to see when the day robs you of the rest. Pastel dress shirts lined with lipstick. For your next trick, a quick change in temperature. replaced goose bumps with heat signatures and I lay here within your cross hairs. Friendly fire full of desire. Clothes cascade to the floor like casings flung from the chamber. Anger and frustration before faces flush. The rush. The tension. Not to mention the aftermath. Serenity meets wrath to the point where they resemble one delightful meshing.
Undressed all that stress…… …………all that annoyance. Snide remarks and feigned clairvoyance. Stripped down needless defiance. Clients reaping all of your time replaced by a glass of wine and a lap strong enough to compliment your curvature.
You sink into my hands like crushed chocolate ready to melt. Never before right now have I known a warmth that felt…… ………………………this constant. No room for reserve or the usual soft speaking. I am peaking. I peek in and you are leaking. Brushed my fingertips across my mustache like grass desperate for raindrops. Saw you gasp and change colors.
Now I see the light you swore you'd never show. Well worth the time now that I know how to make your skin glow.
Sitting in my throne the atonement I have yet to issue. Pride the tissue used to abuse truth and wipe it clean. Gone are the chances I presumed reserved for redemption but I have earned no exemption. Conviction has a life of names tailor fitted for shame but my outlook is void of guilt. We are worlds apart separated by a bridge built between indifference and ascension. Dimensions this life cannot profess any manner of experience toward.
This life………
Hard by design but truly maligned when forcefully refined for those who feel the need to be defined. The incline is steeper than angles slanted between planets but the connection remains there. Fair enough for the ambitious but the stubborn struggle uphill until it nearly kills them.
Filled them with the very pride that stands between me and my throne. Similar affairs have called you home and I honestly would love to visit but I will not exhibit what I deem submissive in perception. Direction known by those I train. Even they notice the strain and the redundancy it manifests. They jest in secrecy. No trace of meek in me. Believed you sought to weaken me. I knew better but the regal standard bearer will not be viewed as a trend setter.
Lonesome magistrate with less dominion. Opinion in extent is only lent to the constructive who recognize it as a mere extension of our emotional ties. My eyes have combed the skies in search of alternative measures. I treasure your countenance for its rarity but clarity in my possession dies. Wasteful sacrifice for pride that only ensures a slight change in what I once thought inevitable.
Miracle may cross that bridge two hundred times between us before it pays me a visit. I create the limits and adhere to them firmly. Terms have changed that I have yet to acknowledge; convincing myself that there is solace in denouncing unwelcome aversion. There are reasons why dispersion makes the ground beneath us smooth:
Influence makes the planets move.
I am alone among millions. Stars only serve to illuminate this bridge between us. Distance in deliberate fashion has distorted my view of everything old and new
except you.
Clearer vision would not have us tarry here this long. Time will not prolong that which may fade with passing moments. Without atonement, I might perish in stubborn pursuit of you. I've claimed more time than I should. Made more excuses than most would.
She was the kind of strange that made normalcy nonexistent. Persist and you'll rue the day. She threw the rules away. Everything to say contradicted me implicitly. Complicity is not my nature but it's not like I'm doing favors. In her mystique I toil and labor learning foreign nomenclature that I may never use again. Befriended her in my past life. Fast life. Whiskey in tall bottles wrapped in towels. How the bowels of the city remain dank and morbid on the days she wouldn't tour it. Poured Bourbon from my flask. Spilled a little on her thighs. Didn't even have to ask. She'd just look into my eyes and let me get to work. Mini skirt an open invitation to the brand of desire that multitudes or whole nations likely killed each other for.
Every store had a receipt to claim. Most of them in my name unless she felt that twinge of guilt. Lust is how our house was built but that rose would never wilt that I gave her a week before Winter. Dinner was another daunting task. Beginner's luck would fade as fast as the tip money that lined my pockets. I found myself back then tied to this same rocket but she's not here to light the fuse. She is the reason why I don't really watch the news. Confused with each report that surfaced. I grow just as nervous as I draw closer to the truth. Could've chosen me to shoot instead. The lights were dim. The streets were hazy. A scene so grim as this lady laying lifeless on the pavement.
She would tell me: "Save wit for the unintelligent." It always gave me fits because she thought I had an angle. She likely never realized how willingly I would dangle from the tips of her manipulative means. She haunts my dreams with an overload of fantasies I've presumed locked away forever. Acts that I would never even ponder in a public setting. She's clearly worth forgetting for the sake of sanity but my love for her is unrelenting. Maybe that's my vanity.
She saw love as the greatest, most decadent, refreshing, decrepit, despondent, fruitless weakness that a man could ever show or a woman could ever ask for. My heart would beat my pants to the floor when she'd say that. She knew what made me angry. Same things that drove me crazy to the point where I wanted so much more of it. To forfeit in many ways is cowardice but I found bliss when she took the lead. Of any seed ever planted in this stirring mind of mine, hers was the darkest enchantment that has stood the test of time to this very day.
I eventually threw the bottles away. Kept the towels they were wrapped in. Pure and soft like satin. Often took me back to a time when white and black was all the color needed to appreciate the finer things in life. Before I found her black heart, I was privy to skin that flowed across my fingertips like raw milk: fresh and moist without blemish. Diminished over time were the chances. Slowly replaced with mere glances until I'd get to touch her again. Closest I've come to having a friend. Never knew a more powerful lover. She never met my mother. Wouldn't bring her around my brothers.
Like no other, she was dear to me. Sweetest symphony playing in the heart of a man recalling the fondest part of his one connection with this world of twisted dreams.
Yes: Love ain't always what it seems but this life is in no position to tell me better.
"The Looking Glass" Never considered the time I've spent standing by this window. Thought back to when I wrote pieces... contingent upon which way the wind blows. I was in need of direction. Perfection my muse and torture. Forfeiture my greatest fear. Ink bled through the tears on pages I've tossed away. I found so much more the day I lost my way.
Maybe that's why I'm still near this window. Uncertainty the purest drive. It is honest and pure. Nothing akin to demure. When the mind is unsure, the heart takes center stage. Love a lonesome discovery when we taylor it for recovery. We are taught to mend the patches but how does one break the latches that no witness saw secured? Why so long just standing here, though? This window. Where everything within already knows where to begin. Friends viewed as contemporaries far too involved to be contrary when it comes to life. Strife the shortest thought derived when striving to serve outside themselves to anyone willing to look in. This window. Where through a crack in the blinds, I find one among them that is not as brisk. Does he fear the risk or recognize futility? Is he exerting his humility? Nothing demonstrative before him. He appears sort of postmortem. Lifeless soul void of deliberation. Coy in his search for liberation. Drawn into some stubborn fixation that keeps him facing where no one treads. Threads unravel from these worn curtains adorned in purpose for the self-scorned so urgently still self drawn to the window because I'm too nervous to use the front door that never locks. With each fiber that rips I grip tighter to the truth. Fruit of my fearsome labor. Favors offered by many. Helping hands aplenty but no confidence in self. The top shelf is no place for me. Where the complacency makes latency an end that requires no justifiable means. Afraid of not remaining clean. Scared to lose that gleam that was imparted when intrigue endeared me to something as profound as the sound of power etched in lines. Through this window I have found me. This view defines me. I am sitting there: afraid to care enough to go because someone out there may show me that I'm not good enough. The rougher pills I'm scared to swallow. So content with being hollow that even my contempt can't nourish me. Furnished well within my doubt, I see me there but won't dare shout. I might scare myself away from the window. So we stay here in our stalemate. In my wonder and my frail state. We just sulk into regression as all progression is stalled. It honestly begs the question:
Was this a window at all? Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
