Sex Changed

Sex is a strangely unnecessary thing, no longer in my realm of worry.

Just to get you off my chest: (it's time to bring in the dirty laundry) the love I grew for you was an evolution of my love for myself and the passion I convoluted with you was an extension of my desire to fuck a being as moving as myself. And to know, to know this, is freedom.

You will do what it is that you do to someone more violent than I, as you force your way in smooth mastery. So to you, I drink, a toast to a life I could never lead, as your pedestrian love will always have the right of way.

I will change your life lest it take a lifetime to change me.

Again, Aquarian

Tonight is one of the harder nights. Last night, I taught myself to hate you just as I taught myself to love you (your flaws as reasons for both). But tonight, I'm back at square one, feeling pushed aside and defeated. I'll never know what I missed out on - hazy Lawrence nights strung together with hands full of substance abuse. You'll never know what you missed out on - warm hands on shoulders and coffee on when you wake. As much as my pride could never pause for such an admission: you broke my heart (and you didn't have permission).

So now, I need you to re-arrange every star in my sky (just as I left it) so that I can recall the world I lived in before the astrological shatter, again aquarian. So when we drive past each other, I don't feel like I've had a drug to last me until our next chance meeting. To last me until the next time I know that you're still living. And that when I see blood stains on the highway, I can know that even though you're an asshole, you're still safe somewhere regardless of whether the face that brushes yours at night is mine or another willing, able and vulnerable a participant, and if in the morning, when that face can disgust you in the way that mine has, you can securely exit their life taking your love with you like a priest takes god.

I have been the fire.
I have been the one.
And that, is enough.

For now.

Long Distance Winner

I'm beginning to think maybe there's something admirable about the ones with hearts that don't heal. Like soldiers on long deployment. They're committed to the war but can't explain the cause. And they can't go home until there is a declared winner.

I recollect through pictures to pine; to get what I gave back. Your face was good for a photograph. We were the good ones, who loved, each part, every heart. I love all of who I am and can kill for opportunity to enter whole into a love like that which I possess as I will never be the same again.



You gave me false love. I gave you an hour.

We're On The Surface.

As the last I will write about you: When eighty years have passed, I wonder if I can still hold onto our shared history then the way I hold onto this shared present, this shared now. And if you will still make my heart burn shudder stagger through the rest of my life. And though we have lossed, will the universe still proceed in perfect time within the chronological record, as you and I are logged in exacted details between stars in the glacial gelidity of a timespace known only between the two of us. And if there God himself would grant opportunity to re-live our accident (the same way I re-live you daily, weekly, minute by minute) would I alter any facet? As I acknowledge this as my journey that I have emerged victoriously an escapement of the undertow of loving without love.

I have risen to the sobering surface to see warm, dark and silent a life as I have lead before and will lead again. And you may stay under forever, wet as though it was not so long ago that you were loving me. If you too can rise I will be here to show you, tell you that love exists in this place for you too. And that I am sorry for myself for participating and that I am sorry for you for initiating the exchange of stolen hearts. We, who will give that love from ourselves unending (yet it will still belong to us, as ours), we are waiting on the surface.

Gasconade: A Threat

I will commiserate everyone else who bears your name,

because I am a permanant shudder at the sound of anything like it.
And they must carry the weight of my memory of you.

I wish my mother'd
have taught me the value of limit,
so I could have averted this
entire yarn the way a captain
wishes a cartographer would
teach the rocky,
uncompromise of
gasconade skirtings of the shore.

This city is small enough for me to haunt you
and for you to haunt me.
I fear running into you
in the same way
that I fear waking my sleeping beast.
The way I fear missing my turn.