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Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Parting is such sweet sorrow, so they say. The only sweetness is the taste of your lips lingering on mine. The remembered touch of your finger tips. The scent of our sex. I hate parting, I hate this loneliness that wasn’t there before. “See ya” you said, I was quiet.

Don’t look back; don’t see me sitting, staring at nothing, don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll miss you and you miss me too and sooner or later I’ll be free if I’m free and and and and… Another beer please.
I want to steel myself to lose this. I want to harden myself, to become the asshole, to not care. If I lose this, when I loose this, it will fuck me up.

She’s so deep in my gut we breathe together.

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I don’t believe in true love. I have loved too many, too strongly to believe in such storybook perfection. Love is pain, as I have come to discover; it is letting go and forgiving, never about forgetting. You never forget. It’s a burning ember in the middle of my chest that can flame to life at the slightest provocation; a movie, a song, a sunset can set it off, bring that twinge to my heart. The choking drowning feeling, the pain of passion burning me up. It’s tears and laughter, joy pain and sorrow all rolled together. Everyone wants it, everyone deserves it at least once; the masochistic fucks.
Sometimes I feel so strongly I can do nothing. I am floored by the simplest of things; sometimes nothing at all. Then I can do nothing but agonize in half-memory and boiling roiling-emotion, buried regret and agonized longing.
It comes from deep wells, buried memories, buried faces and names, places and times that live only in past imaginings. Sometimes I have to laugh or cry out loud. It bubbles out, rushes out from those deep places and demands release. Violence overcomes me, cripples me; the triggered memory, the forgotten place-time rides me, thrashes me and I cry out in the pain of remembering.
The pain of remembering, remembering of ones I’ve loved, of love; the remembering of love.

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I saw you again yesterday. Your head turned just so,
Your eyes with their usual sparkle-shine.

I passed on. I raised no hand in greeting.
I did not look back.

This is typical of my sort, my set;
Never look back. Never think of possible regret.

I imagine I’ll see you again soon however, in the field of my mind.
My madly waking mind.

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So real. Is it real…?

The touch of your skin
the smell of our hair
your voice
your laugh

I can feel the the breath of your voice
on my ear,
your skin on my fingertips.

But I can’t see
your eyes,
I can’t see
your face.

I cannot see But I feel
I feel
Your skin against mine
Your smile and soft laugh
Your hair brushes my face
And your last words are echoing still

“We could just lie here forever…”

I laugh at you
and smother your mouth
with mine

and then I am awake.

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Juxtapose

Juxtapose
hot & cold
Wish you could
Wish you might
Have your wish
Every night

Hold her close
And don’t let go
You & Her
Juxtaposed

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“I can always leave as long as I have home to come back to.”

These words were spoken to me and I thought to myself, “Home”. I have none; they say home is where the heart is, if  ’tis true then my heart yet remains restless. Without rest, without a place to rest, no comfort or place of safe warmth… Restless.
I wonder if ‘Home’ will be a place or a person? I have traveled a fair bit and have fallen in love with oceans, deserts and mountains in equal measures, I have also fallen for people; friends, companions, various women.
Still I move on, restless.
Maybe I’m seeking, unconsciously wondering instinctively. I held a belief once that my footsteps were guided by God, “A lamp unto my feet” was my mantra; perhaps that is still true. Truly I worry not about tomorrow and its travails. perhaps God yet guides my path. I could not say, the map of my life has not been given to me. Perhaps it an emptiness of my heart that drives me. A tough question that. “Is not God in you?” Someone might ask, “Are you not full of the Spirit of God?”
Truly I am a created being, truly I am a creative being. In me is the power of creation, that primordial spark of shaping; words, metal, art… life.
Creation is bringing life. I am a life bringer: “Me, the life bringer.” Interesting title; pompous, presumptuous, fun.

So then, rambling to an end
Self exploration w/ no destination
Talking to these pitcher pots
Relating my self thought
And I laugh in a mirror
I smile and it’s clear
All my questions are circular
And return to a central theme:
Who-Is-Me?

And to quote myself, “I just can’t stay on the path I started.”

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I’m Drunk and I cant sleep
I call my Love and I can’t weep.

I must be a pussy
Because I can’t think.

I call my love
And I can’t speak.

She doesn’t answer
She’s asleep.

It’s not a surprise
It’s a week…   …day.

It’s a monday
And I can’t driftaway.

It must be a monday
Because I can’t sleep.

It must be the alcohol
Because I can’t weep.

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