the acrid taste in my mouth
the tingling in my right arm;
reminders that I’m still here…
reminders that I do exist…
sometimes it really doesn’t feel like
sometimes I’d rather it not be true
but it is, and I am here.
and honestly, it feels good to be alive…
it’s always the warm embrace that I miss first.
your lips, and you in between my arms.
it’s likely I’m fighting the urge to consume you;
I’m eager to have all of you. yes, all of you.
because you have piqued my interest and my heart,
and now you’ve become my thoughts at night.
the feeling on my lips whenever my mind drifts
to a place better than where I am.
and it always involves someone else,
but this time it involves you…
and it’s so much better than I ever could have imagined;
this time of night is just so perfect when I’m beside you.
simply asleep, nothing but my scent
and your fragrance and lips that curl into a smile.
stand clear of the doors
because they are closing
the way my heart does:
quickly and without warning.
shutting out any and everybody
still out on the other side while
holding hostage every and anyone
still trapped inside of my chest.
I think it’d be best
if you made the decision.
knowing me, you would be
split by my indecision.
because my decisions are final.
until they’re not, in which case,
I don’t know what to tell you,
except for the fact that I’ve already told you
this is how I am.
I think I
maybe smiled once.
not like the
image painted onto
my face the day we met,
but more like
who just met
while waiting for a
train in Chicago
the way he smiled
reminded me of
and of a face that
maybe had a
smile behind it
when I stared at
books of poetry
at six years old
there were never really any regrets
just this meticulous success that begets
a set of notions he sometimes suppressed.
and I am sorry for not understanding why
since I suppose I should certainly know,
of all people. possibly. it’s also probable
that perhaps it doesn’t matter much
because maybe most things don’t
matter much, meaning mondays
will almost always definitely suck.
because come time for monday, a lot
of us, quite frankly, don’t give a fuck.
and then there are those of us that do.
those that yearn; those that learn that
we have to earn the attention of the likes of you.
Photo by Micki Spollen on Unsplash