December 2011
17 posts
And of course, I wonder if you miss me.
Because in this slice of life purpose built for two, I miss you. Terribly, with an empty longing and a burning fever, like a summer sickness curling cruel into the longest and most beautiful night.
This bed was meant to be shared, the shower space enough for more than my rough frame, a breakfast table always with silverware to spare and that...
12/25/2011
Merry Christmas, happy holidays, joyous Hanukkah, whatever floats your boat. Best wishes and highest hopes, kids - I keep you close and count you all among my blessings. Here’s to bigger and better, brighter and lighter, in all our days ahead.
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So I guess this is Christmas. Here, from the lower deck overlooking the cactus and the sand, I can hear the ocean slump her shoulders into the beach with an exhausted sigh. It feels like home, here - strange at that is to admit. I suppose some small part of me found comfort here, a little slice of something warm amidst all this light and sound. I’m not certain what this means, or whether it...
I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m feeling weighted down - I’ve got your breath in my lungs and your words on my mind, heavy and umber-hued like the the rusted skeleton of a long sunken ship. It’s all what-could and never what-is, I think - all this time spent watching you run ahead and now suddenly you tell me to slow down, wait up, hold fast. What do...
Trapped at the airport. They keep delaying my flight. At this rate, I will be in serious trouble soon, as the airport bartender is quite charming and my lover’s liver is just aching for a little exercise. I have so very much to say about airports, about all these comings and goings and every seasonal goodbye. But this isn’t the time, and you’re not really listening.
fathom
We’d drink together in silence along the sea wall, watching the lights of distant ships plod gently along like man-made glaciers of economic intent, imagining how the worn sides of those loveless rust-red hulks might shudder as they would cleave, cruel and brutal, through the infinite black water. We could taste salt on our lips, the lingering saline kiss of the oceanic wind reinvigorated...
now
At 3:18, when the lights are low and the warmth of the day has long departed, when the bones of your back ache like red links of rusted chain and your hours-ago dinner sits low in stomach like wet cement, when the clock slows to standstill and your tired heartbeat echoes across feather-down infinity, it isn’t the sex you miss. It isn’t the passion nor the fury, not the pride nor the...
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wax & wane, time between
Beyond the break, deeper than a surfer should be, I watch the unending waves blossom up from the rippled glass border between two worlds. Each one is perfectly imperfect, a precisely balanced burst of pure energy born only from the sea itself. Chaos and order blended together into form and function to bring both life and death to the jagged shore, birthing stony beaches from the ruins of countless...
In the fraudulent yellow light of the basement bathroom of some bar I can’t claim to know the name of, I rinse my hands in the sink and take a few extra moments to press my thumb into my palm, to feel the bones within shift and strain ever so slightly like the buried roots of a storm-blown oak. It smells like piss in here, like filth and stain and all the little parts of living that we...
show
It is exposure, it is vulnerability, it is being laid bare and open for another to rend and tear, or to covet and caress. It is the way your hands shake every so slightly as you struggle with the buttons, the way the clinking of pocketed coins and loosened belt buckle seems so incredibly loud. It is the torrid mixture of nervousness and fear whirling about within your stomach, all of it a...
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#367
The parts of you I loved most crept out around midnight. You would always start the night so prim and proper, holding your glass by the stem and not the bowl, keeping your sweet voice low and the sharpest of your words held back like some secret arsenal. But with time the goodness and joy would leak out of you like wood smoke, like bathwater steam, like the gentle wind breathed into the stale...
caught out
Late night, come home, whiskey breath and soft steps. The ocean moans, close enough for clarity but far enough to forsake, sad songs about lost love and sunken ships. The house is cold because you just don’t bother heating empty spaces, and so I can see my breath in the air as I loosen and leave my tie on the counter near the sink. A bottle and a simple glass make for fair company, and I...