this is forbidden; it must be why i crave it so much.

then again. talk is cheap; it could go like this for ages and change with the quickest of look-overs.

why must life be live?

wrote this so long ago...but i feel it today like it's fresh.


fickle
tickle
tears that run
slowly
quickly
just to young
love
hate
war
and peace

a piece
a piece
a piece
(of me)

memory
never more
running for
forever gone
obliviate
fucking hate

cut
cut
slash

fears
pills
passion

crush
crushing
crushes
crash

stare
stun
blush
blush

don't speak
no
hush

shiver
tremble
fawn
and weep

a piece
a piece
a piece
(of me)

scream
shake
silent fear

no one

nothing

disappear

dreaming
drumming
running free

a piece
a piece
a piece
(of me)

attack
refute
omit
abuse
submit
conclude
shove
pull

take

stealing
wanting
breaking
flaunting

screaming
"let me be"

where's your piece?

a piece
a piece
a piece
(of me)

what difference does it make if i tell you my essence,
when you can't drink it in; you're full of yourself
and what compliments your own ideas

drink up an idea and chase it
with the backwash of your mind
you aren't listening but you hear oh so well.

singing songs like they echo
back up a treacle drenched ditch
deep deep down they tumble, incubate, but never burst.

and you hope of this from me?
so small and simply watching
wandering from one thought to the next and listening
rather than letting something be heard
in one ear and out my neck.

i'll let you hold my hand,
burn my tongue with your liquor words
stretch my thighs with sky-drenched eyes;
your pupils were so big.

and it keeps spilling out of my veins and into my fingers

twitch twitch

it felt so good.


and so do you.

you'll wonder where i went,
but you should know,
grand provocateur.

 
never sit still and i'm bored of this place
i could never bore of you like you bored into me
but if i stay for too long ill staystuck.


on my knees deep

muck mire mud with you...

being dirty (with you) wouldn't be so bad;

(fingers slip slid, drip drop on my skin
recycling the sun's cloud lover)

only, i love the chaos of rain/not the aftermath.


that was fleeting.

the frost of my own breath woke me up this morning... it was gloriously cold.

you never understood why i was so alive in the dead of winter. it's that part of me that you can't touch. i mourned that fact when my eyes fluttered open, and my skin crawled with the ghostly caress of the air.

if you were beside me, you would have curled around me, sucked the eminent warmth that's inexplicably missing in the heat of the desert i reluctantly call home, but burns deep when i'm touched by snow, wind, and alien blue sunlight, reflecting from every surface.

i welcomed it with avid delight, into my body with each bottomless recess of breath, my chest heaving, and my skin's heat creating a strange fog from the cold bouncing off of it's porcelain surface. but you aren't here; you were once that inner heat that burned me... now you don't touch me, not even with your hands.

i am alone. the snow is too.

and we relish each other's company.

i went to wake you with a brush of my lips against the crag of you cheek. i softly whispered merry christmas, and you deftly turned to reject the icicle of my lips. you'll learn. i'll wait.

i fold into myself, and keep that ice where i want it. i'll remember this. i felt it this morning, and i feel it crush me in the diaphragm, taking my breath and voice with it now. she would want it this way. she remained in her solitary sandstone, surrounded by ice her whole life. i take that piece with me.

and she was alone. so was the snow.

and they relished in the company of one another.

i never knew how i channeled my great grandmother; but i feel it creeping up inside of me. lord, give her strength. lord, give me here strength.

when we would walk on the moon-like red stone, and the snow looked like slushed out blood, she would hold my hand and guide my mind to things no one looked at. at that moment we were together... 

and right now i relish in the company of that memory.

you'll learn. we both feel it. and i'm glad she doesn't see this piece of us silently moving a part, like drifts of snow carried by the wind. we'll land where we should. and i'll wait patiently for that to happen.

why did I have that dream?


i'm losing my mind, this i am certain of.


i suppose it isn't losing, if you willingly give it up though; right?

i never questioned the deftness of your fingers or the slick patronage of your tongue. you stood over me like a proud lord; it was your birthright, i was your queen.

the sighs came out in hurried puffs, and the laces were torn from their place; your face twisted with anticipation, a soft feral growl escaped my throat.

your skin was as smooth as alabaster, and it was sweet torture, the way you took your time, learning every shape of a body that i barely knew.

when you opened your mouth to speak, i hushed you with a finger.

let's not ruin this with lovely words. 

sculpt me with the ready eagerness of the artist you are; carving bodies into your mind was your eternal haunt, i don't want to be forgotten.

you could toy with my hormones anytime you wished, but fingering my emotions was out of the question.

i saw in your eyes the burning question, and i turned away. you convinced me with your fingertips that tonight we could pretend.

and the question lay with us, tendrils running up the walls like climber vines.

what if you do?

obsession is turning into a dust that fills my lungs

this cloud that envelopes my brain is anything but recreational;

in arizona, the storms i lust are

always

preceded by hasty dust storms and devils

hungrily pursuing the thought
of ultimate destruction.

this house won't bend
to it's wicked demands.

eep.

let redemption come
in the form of cumulous
perspiration;

honey from the heavens
dripping like a promise
from the lips
of
God.

taking your dripping
fingertips out of the jar


i enjoy the overwhelming
sense of becoming
teacher

to you


discover the riches of earth
and learn only through
sensory perception
the folly of man's
manufactured materials.


and don't be timid
in licking drops
of the whole honey comb

off of

my

skin

as i sit once again, in a gargantuan empty house, my poor high-heel scorned foot has seemingly fallen to sleep. i would want a nap too if i was subjected to being bound by one teetering accident of an everyday weapon.

and when i get up, it sounds as if i am a wounded tap-dancer, continuing the trade with an urgent need to display a properly functioning rhythm of movement on the exterior, only the sound gives away the damage.

reverberating off the walls like laughter, i can't help but smile. 

soon i will be home.

and in those final moments
when your skin flakes off
like snow

i pray your heart be
soothed and sheltered
with the love
that i bestow

as the wind carries
cross countries
the arcane remains
of lore

and centuries hold
puzzles
that be unlocked
with thorough
thought

if it is not
apparent now
let it become so

my love for
you
won't perish
it has room
only to
grow.

but silhouettes on the grass
crisp and clean; shadows never muss

soaking up every contact
velvet skin
of dripping black

expressively misinterpreted.

and i prefer it this way
this shade
of public complacency

what is between is
only
for you and me.

let them overlook
all the better
so we learn
to
look up
and out
and over
and in
at each other;

let us transcend, darling.

we sunk back
in bucket seats

the only material
portion of me

mourned

at the thought
this place, someday,
will no longer be.

even if we
are in
ancient graves

this place

will be
civilized
to shame.

reflective waters, shallow
palm trees, yellowed and sallow

the sun will be overcome
with grey.

fearing the discontinuation
the brokenness
of life
as if death
were the sight
everywhere you turn

only
we'll be in
ancient graves;
the cycle--i embrace!
and for now
has no
possibility
of change.

death is life is death is life is death is life is death is life is death is life is

death is life.

worn by weather
his leather
hand
gripped mine
in vice

this man appears as death
smiling with content
and it feels good
to peer into
its face.

little did
we know
death
was
so content
so happy
so warm

i take his sunken grin
and i'm not giving it back

this what i want
when the rays of sun
blind
and the winds soothe
with ache

to smile with death
inside of me
sweet breath
heavy
with minute age
and the wisdom
limited by
the mortality
of man

forget the urn
freeze it in
an iceburg

i'll travel
the earth
infinitely

it's a bit masochistic, how i seeped back into the past, as far as i could go. there it is, i found what i both missed (and wish i could embrace), yet restrained and am now so indifferent about.

it was so bitter sweet, and it still burns, going down my throat. it's like a habit, reading it out loud. i had to hear it to really relive it, i suppose.

you were always so good with words; god only knows how you understood me so well while others were so lost in the condensation known as me. it's like fog, with sunlight trying to burn through--all these memories. if the sun can eat it up, i think my soul would be re-birthed.

i don't think i ever told you that i thought you were my soul mate. the way we fit each-other so perfectly in every way. being so oppositely in-sync is what led to our demise; it was my ideals that separated the two of us. you sought the truth, and i sought... i don't even know what i was searching for. the over-riding compulsion was to search for you, and i placed you on a pedestal neither of us could climb, and eventually we both fell. ironically enough, soul mates are said to be incapable of being one for very long, or the universe would fall to it's knees. i've accepted that blindly, and i'm sure it will remain that way.

you were so much a part of me. was i that to you? this i will never know, and i think i might be okay with it. i've let myself believe in non-existent closure for such a long time.

when you left, i wasn't merely broken, i was missing. for days, weeks, months. you had taken that vibrance with you, and i let you, willingly. it was my gift for insufficiency.

i never thought about how i may have plunged you into inebriation the last few times, how i played games unconsciously, how i broke my own heart by breaking yours. 

for so long
i believed
i was the righteous
martyr
who suffered it
all for you.
the shroud removed
i realize that
we were equals
in the evil
we subjected
each other
too.

funny, isn't it? how your first love is so intense, and can either teach you to become better at loving, or teach you to recede back into the catacombs of a steel-trapped heart? 

i have both. 

you were the last i chronicled in such stark detail; down to the night you said those fateful words and trapped me inside of you.

at the same time, i have learned that forgiveness is boundless, if it is pure. and forgiveness is adjunct to sacrifice: you can't have one without the other, you can't give either partially, and should administer it impartially. 

expectations are like ghosts; no one else can see them if they don't believe in them. you couldn't read my mind; i couldn't read your heart.

in end, i'm okay with our mutual silence. or so i thought. then i broke it.

for old time's sake.

in envy of the ancients
when legends walked

it seems i have acquired the taste
for lighting incense
to the point of a choking spire

i suppose it's in yearning
for mystic and indigenous
temples, lore, hysterics, and superstitions

my soul feels old
and i'm feeding it's need
for tradition
and frivolity;

something missing in this
modern-day
apocalyptic
shut out
of a world.

but in the end i dock
back into the safe harbor
of your arms

wasn't an armistice your desire?

my fists curled
against the cradle
of your chest

inhale
exhale
sigh
repeat

if you're my earth
i'm your moon.

i you we us
i'm tangled in these
decriptive nouns
we use
to commun(e)icate

all i really need
is to read your bones
feel your heart crack
against your ribs
your flush of heat
running down your spine

all i know is
the fit of your smile
and the grit
of my mind

it's unfair
how convoluted
we allow society
to make
us

there i go again.

i yearn for something to read that will make my eyes grateful for sight.

it seems that in my yearning i have travelled back to the classics... of course my all time favorite, Wuthering Heights, and an incredible tale of anti-climax, Chocolat; will probably pick my all-inclusive Shakespeare composition back up.

a little sad that my story i had developed roughly has been lost to the world of itsy-bitsy exiled thumbdrives. damn.

think that slow love-making will cool the embers of anger from my loss and current literature-enticed disappointment.

will test now...

Eventful does not begin to describe my day. 

A little background FYI: have had a cold/flu something or other for the past two weeks; it comes, it goes, it teases me with the thought of being rid of it's useless drudgery, and then pops up again at the most convenient times...

That being said, I have been working from home, starting the transition at my very intense pleasure, even if my boss is not quite mentally ready to process that we will not be working in the same physical environment together any longer (you have to ask yourself, why fight something that you yourself suggested? It's one of those things he hasn't stopped partaking of quite yet...).

Due to the mental state I coerce myself into when working, it was above my knowledge that my wonderful kitten-cat was doing something I would later scream about.

I can only imagine how long it took Lylyan to pull the carcass of the pigeon from the front step, over the ledge, across the hallway, and into the threshold of my bedroom, where I discovered the dead-as-a-door-nail bird resting comfortably, and blood free, on the corner of my brand new comforter. Feathers covered the tile, wood and carpet, for over 4 meters, giving me the initial impression that maybe my dog had finally snapped from his intense lupine loneliness and taken it out on the pillow we had given him to sleep upon next to our bed. Wrong. You see, my dear kittencat has never killed a bird before. In fact, the most harm she has ever done was catching lizards and pulling their tails off, leaving them to be found in laundry baskets; she has even caught the occasional fly and eaten with a look of absolute disinterest on sunny days when she sits inside of the window sill and gapes at the forbidden outside world. It was shocking that she had even managed to catch the bird at all, since she has been declawed in her front paws, and is 75% indoor lap kittencat. Being so, it was apparent upon my horrific stumbling on this unsuspecting rigor-mortis'd feather bowl that she had no idea she was to eat the bird, not leave it for mummy-dearest to scream and upchuck a little in her mouth.

They say that when a feline shares it's prey, it is a sign of affection and bonding; however, I'm just not entirely appreciative of dead animals being strewn here and there in my home.

To continue.

I worked non-stop from 7:30 this morning until 11:00, when I decided to call my boss and let him know everything he has been asking to see and meet about was ready.

This meeting began normally enough--him passively aggressively trying to intimidate me into agreeing that everything that is going wrong is my fault. Then, for the first time ever, I outsmarted the Oxford educated bastard with reverse psychology and got what I wanted. It was brilliant, but in the end, the story in an of itself is much to boring to warrant sharing; the victory, however is something I must mention: he agreed to allow me to transition sooner to my home, since I work harder and have better results there, than inside of his empty 6000 square foot empty luxury home that gives me the heeby jeebies. Hurrah for better work terms!

And the rest of my day has been spent organizing my home office, updating spreadsheets, and creating agendas to complete my work-from-home transition.

In other grand news, Richie will complete his first full-immersed feature film project tonight and get paid this week.

Now if it would rain and remain a consistent 62 degrees maximum, my world would be complete!

Now time to put my Gordan Ramsey hat on, and make a culinary masterpeice of ginger sesame glazed salmon, thinly sliced and baked asparagus, and japanese scallops with a Pinot Grigio from Bordeaux!

MUAH!

and under our headline
postscript reads "scribble"

our words are wrong
our hearts are stone

we are separately together

lace my fingers in your's
never let me go
hold my words in your heart
wrap them like a bow
it's all i have to give
so please take them; they're yours
lace my fingers in yours

never let me go