a mess for words

In the moonlight seeping through the window of your apartment on the 20th floor, I looked out into what was left of the city lights at 3am and whispered “This is an amazing view you’ve got here..”

I turned around to see you standing diagonally across the room from me. You respond by saying, “The view is actually better from over here.” I believe you and walk over to where you are. I stand right in front of you to try and see what you’re seeing, and when you lean over my shoulder a bit from behind, I can feel the warmth of your breath on my neck.. and because of that, it takes all the strength I have to keep my nerves in check. You point to the bridge far, far out in the distance that I couldn’t see when I was up closer to the scenery, and when I turn around to agree — that yes, this is a better view than what I saw before, that I can see so much more, our eyes lock and your mouth hits my own.. and even though our lips were still moving, there were no words being spoken.

…

The night transcends into something both expected and unexpected and soon after, the sun rises and I lay my head in the nook between your arm and your chest. As I closed my eyes to finally rest, I’m left feeling like nothing else matters.

in this game of cat and mouse
december fourth two-thou-eight

with you, it always begins with a some kind of build-up,
an exchange of electronically riddled messages
with a hint of flirtation underlying,
implying the idea of unspoken urges
of lying beneath the dark,
fully completing what this build-up was from the start.
working with only our minds and never our hearts,
(though i still can't help but question mine,
i know yours is much more 'smart')
...down the line to our fingertips, we set this course in action
mixing both subtleties and playful reactions
in the cups we drink to get ourselves drunk
with lust and love and trust and boldness and might
while we let our bodies linger as we dance
around the possibilities that float throughout the night

(where at this point, i always get the feeling you want it just as much as i do,
but you like to play the tease and almost never want to say you do)

so the chaser becomes the chasee and we cycle back and forth until we fall
and i like to think that together we both gave in, and finally broke down our walls
for that one dawning state of happiness that this all began around.
i have to say when it comes down to it ... i happen to enjoy the final sound.

with you, i always knew it was never going to be that easy
but sometimes i like to play, because in the end, it pleases me.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. - William Wordsworth

he's in it for the chase
of the matter
--not because i matter
he's in it for the smile
i cause to creep upon his face
onto his light pink lips
i've always had this urge to kiss, kiss
and he's in it for the glow
in knowing i can't get enough of him
through the blush i still attempt to hide in
(because i have the hardest time hiding it)
but deep down inside,
we both know--he'll never give in
or succumb to what i could give him
because his eyes, they don't rely
on just how lovely this prize is
but on what a thrill it is
of somehow, someway,
getting his way
through my door
... and nothing else,
nothing more.

undefined lines
november seven two-thou-seven

when my fingers speak to the words of the small of your back, i find this to be my favorite type of discussion. punctuated with kisses on my collarbone. legs, bodies positioning into an ellipses of things better off unspoken. resulting in question marked eyes turning into exclamation marks of surprise and exhaustion at the same time, ending this hour long run-on sentence with the most comfortable period of a satisfied smile. afterwards, we whisper secretly of things that don't need to ever be said (but should be known anyway), letting them somehow slip in between the parenthesis of our mouths as they travel line by line from our doubled-over hearts into our burning ears. and though the writing in this room seems to be unclear, there is one thing that is clear: it is a moment so defining, it could not be defined.

and all i really know from this, and in terms of you and me, it's that -- i would never want there to ever be a last line.

if we are anything at all
october sixteen two-thou-seven

if we are anything at all,
we are drinks and more drinks
and sweet, sweet drunkeness
by means of your whiskey, jack and coke
and my fancy cocktails in fancy shiny glasses
touching the center of our mouths,

we are touching, touching
of the most discreet kind
underneath tables, bars and slip-on dresses
(making us what people might think
unbelievable dysfunctional messes)

we are shadowy figures of the night
in fifty dollar darkened cabs
underlying with full intentions
of engaging in backseat trysts
with what could only be our wandering lips
that keep accidentally meeting
with open mouth kisses
while your hand, somehow, keeps slipping
because i let it
only to leave me wanting more

and outside of all of that
we are a push and pull
and a further push push away
from what we might really want
to happen between us

and we are these misinterpreted words
and a lack of communication
and incredibly high walls
with no interest in climbing them at all
but yet we still can't help but
flirt with the idea
of you and me
or you in me
and you, buying me, my next drink.

"There is only one happiness in life: to love and be loved."

I worry sometimes that this is true, and sometimes I wish it wasn't.

"Unless you love someone, nothing else makes any sense."

-e.e. cummings

all she really needs
may sixteen; 2007

her body felt immobile afterwards,
as it always had
after an hour of skin on skin collision
discarded clothes scattered on the floor
him not wanting to stop
him only wanting more
with her in his possession,
he was yet again emergent
eager, urgent to pursue
but she, she was a bit phobic
of what the situation would turn into..
one minute they were simply being chatty
and the next they were inside sweaty sheets
with their lower bodies meeting
second after second on repeat
it was a sensation she didn't want to leave
but she wasn't sure she could handle
and in the matters of body over heart
she couldn't help but agree
with the moment and the movement
and the height of their activity
she passionately screamed yes, yes, YES..
as their tangled limbs collapsed
exhausted, defeated, she gave herself in
it wasn't worth the thought involved
it was only worth the feeling
and if this one moment satisfied that
then maybe, maybe this was all she really needed

he stood by the shore, turned around and told me:
it isn't never, it's only now.

and all i could say was: tell me never.

--

we lie around your room; when outside of it, we pretend it's nothing, but inside, inside -- it's always something.
and with my head inside the nook of your arm, i wonder where this is going.
it's not never, it's only now you tell me, but i want you to say never because we both know how much "now" holds on to too much hope. too much for my own good.