Tuesday, October 23, 2012

There were days

There were days where you meant the world to me. When things were so simple, and the sun felt just warm enough to kiss my skin and leave me with it's essence for days. I'd lay there, on top of the parking garage, as the sun was setting, and remember the swift sound of the fishing line whip across and drift into the water. I'd see your face, smut with dirt that rubbed off your long fingers, and left memories in your pores. I'd sweat those days for months.

It was just you and me. Until it wasn't.

maybe we were in love, but could never admit it. There was just enough baggage to pretend there was none at all. Like we sacrificed it all to be who we were together, but not enough to admit we wanted to be...us.

I never knew what to call what we had. So I just left it at that and defined it by the coyotes, the long hikes, and alternative rock. I could never read your eyes. Green and broken. The fragmented refractions pleading me to piece them back together. The nights I promised not to leave.

The night I did, and didn't turn back.

Like apparitions in lost museums, you come back from time to time. Remind me of who I was, and who I am. It's like you're the farthest away, but always right there. Like maybe you'll never go away.

Like maybe you were never gone.

But I'm hoping you're finding yourself. Somewhere out there. Finding that missing piece that was lost between the floorboards, or in between your eyes. I hope you realize that you had it in you all along to be whatever you wanted to be. And know that I've let you go, but love you still in every sunset.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

seeping lust

Those eyes

a mild dynasty

of destructive lust.

Pulsing through

electric veins

rushing warm.


like warm bath water

settling in a naked navel.


Don't get up too fast.

I can feel you seeping through my

thin cotton shirt.

an oil painting


and free.


your lips are poetry against ears

and feed me lies on lips to chin.

its magical the way the movements stir

my shifting thighs and grasping hands.

a velvet tongue

that tastes of summer nectarine

and permeates through daytime dreams.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Finding yourself

Finding yourself in puddles scattered on the side walks to where you want to be

reflections ablurr hard to see the truth when memories stand strong

and in front of you

tapping on the glass of idealism dreams of desert sunrises and scorpian cold nights

i found you in my dreams the old me or maybe one thats not quite done.