Tag Archives: prose

Art, Writing

Love Letter

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The magnetic specter of our dance is gratifying in its own way.  The ebbs and flows, the way it goes carving-marking along the way. Deeper than ditches run, farther than a tumble weed could tumble, we fade into each other and the landscape.

When time is timeless what does time mean?  Perhaps a momentary infinity of you and me on this hypothetical horizon, watching the shades fade from hue to hue. Darkened silhouettes along the terrain, enveloped in some other domain existent but far between.

Specks in the dust, they say

Each meaningful and yet inconsequential in their own way

Working the wheel.

Beating the drum.

Reading the same script, over and over again

“You play this role, and I will play that.”

Expectations, at times hum-drum because you know you’ve played and acted these roles before, whether hero or villain you are familiar with the score.

Dum-ditty-dum-ditty-dum-Dum-ditty-Dum

The pipers come piping, the drummers do drum. The hamsters keeps spinning,  song after song.

So what?  In mixture of this intoxication in our physical being- how can we sequester such meaning? I cop it up to hormones, emotions and feeling. Avoiding the meaning it plays on some higher reality. You have yet to play the lover or the beloved.

The world at my fingertips, hair on end as I keep feeling this world, again and again.

I can be the gyroscope, and if you can hold a steady plane. Let me spin inside your skin until our souls touch.  In some perfect balance of day and night, taking flight to higher heights than either has ever known. Sew yourself within me- carefully.

Together we can be stronger than before, a united front of protection in this mundane place of normality. We would be allowed to dream bigger dreams. See ourselves as champions.

I can share with you my secrets of the cosmos- my ever evolving mind.  This heart holds divine space for you, there has always been a place for you in the core of my cerebellum, telling me to move muscles and sinew forward until the crux of time and space collide.  The horizon simplified, no longer lingering in hypothetical realms or parallel dimensions.

Our compartmentalization of feeling somehow becoming null and void?

Not under my watch.

 

Art, Writing

The Kiss of a Stranger (2006)

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She looks at her reflection, it just won’t teach the lessons she’s looking to learn.  All these consequences for risky actions; scandalous transactions have this girl attached to unreliable sources.

Forces of nature, put her there.   Aware, the whole time, of her shortcomings and the risks. She slips across these thoughts like skipping rocks across water, bouncing a few times before they disappear.

Walk along these empty streets with me, just breathing the fresh air and carefully walking in darkening grace. This place, right now, is silent solitude; a lovely little interlude from this crazy life.

A momentary escape, late at night, a people packed room.  A slow progression forward, not bored at all by our conversation. Walking to your home in synchronicity, in these moments of clarity, I want your kiss desperately so.

Did you find me witty and adept?  Appealingly unkempt and at times a bit bereft of rational thoughts?  Are my motions too fast, did I interact too boldly?  Knowing I only want luscious lips on mine.  I want to redefine my single-hood.

I am a walking effigy of innocent integrity; he begins to boldly kiss me; softly, sweetly and passionately.  It’s been  over a year since I breathed the breath of another.  The wonder of such newness!  The friction of a first kiss; a moment I have missed so desperately!

It is my weakness; this physical plea test, the best part of the beginning.  The feeling of winning the touch of a beautiful stranger.  Later he hours go until no more darkness rests on this hemisphere; the queer night of indulgent lips lock in lust and curiosity.

He even still smiles at me; not as bad as it could be.  Thank God, he didn’t want to sleep with me; but I want to see him again so badly!  I have got to breathe, because this has only just begun with a question and a look.  A smile.  A chat.

Chatting over a cigarette for a while, walking back east in style; a wily hippie at my right.  A perfect night cap.  How is it I find him so appealing?  His physicality reels me forward into kinesthetic wonder.  And I question if he rocks like thunder under the sheets.

What am I thinking?  I am again forgetting to breathe.  The lack of oxygen is clogging my senses.  Again I feel reckless and senseless confusion.  I give these illusions abandon. I am not yet stranded.  I should be celebrating my independence.