Thinking about reading this at a poetry slam… thoughts?
EVAPORATED AROUND YOU AND US I HOVER,
LINGERING AND LONGING FOR A GAP,
WHERE I CAN DRIFT MY THROBBING EXUBERANCE
INTO OUR EXISTENCE.
EAGERLY YOU SUBMIT TO A RHYTHM
OTHER THAN YOUR OWN.
YOU RIPPLE AND CURL
TO THE BECKON OF ANOTHER.
I CONDENSE ON YOUR MOUTH AND LAY AND PLAY
IN THE CURVES OF YOUR LIPS.
I FILL EACH DIP, CONDITIONING YOUR SKIN AND THRUSTING YOU INTO A NEW PULSE.
I AWAKEN YOUR SENSE AND VIGOROUS PAIN.
YOU QUIVER AT THE SIGHT OF IT.
MY ANATOMY SWELLS OUT FROM UNDER YOU, CREATING CHAOTIC CANALS, FASHIONED OF MARROW AND SWIRLING BRUISED PLASMA.
STAINS OF PREVIOUS STRIFE REMAIN FLAWLESSLY TOXIC.
PATTERNS OF RIBS PRESS TO THE PRECIPICE.
PELVIS PUSHING AND COLLARBONE CLAWING TO THE MIRROR,
WHERE ONLY I CAN IDENTIFY YOU UNDER OUR
BURSTING FROM MY INNER SINEWS STRUGGLING TO STRING ME DOWN,
I GASP AND GRASP AT
THE CONTRASTING FANTASY AHEAD.
IT INLAYS ITSELF INTO MY ROUGH PALETTE.
ITS TASTE IS POTENT EVEN IN ITS ABSENCE.
OUR BODY RESPONDS IN VISCERAL CONTRACTIONS,
ATTEMPTING TO RID OURSELF OF THE REPULSIVE PAROXYSM.
YOU SHIVER AND SHAKE, HOPING TO HURDLE YOURSELF INTO TOMORROW.
REGRETFULLY, YOU REMAIN THERE.
INFUSED BY YOUR MALADY,
SOAKING IN YOUR CURRENT EXISTENCE,
AND NOT ABLE TO ESCAPE IT YET.
I’m trying desperately to read my book but every time he moves, even though my disgraceful sinus-infection-congested nose and cynical congested soul, I am intoxicated by the mix of his cologne (please tell me it’s his cologne and not some ridiculous and ungodly scent his body has produced on his own) and the coffee with milk (café au lait.. my choice drink) sitting in front of the papers he is scribbling on. I’m quite certain I don’t find him attractive. I rarely find people attractive. Or ever fall in love. Except for that stranger on the subway I so regretfully passed by. But I am in love with his scent. I could marry this scent in this moment. I hope to never forget it. So I write it down.
I fell in love last night. On the subway. It’s funny how in New York, you can pass so many people and yet when that one crucial person crosses your path, they stand out. I was terrified to look him in the eye. I really could only look at his worn leather boots and worn hands holding his torn book. He treats his books like I treat mine. Like a lover. Not something you cherish but something you get to know inside and out until there’s nothing else to learn about them. He kept smiling and looking up from his book as I read mine. I tried to read mine. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to read at midnight with a few glasses of wine in me.
Moments before I got off the train, our smiles met. I can’t really say our eyes met because I chicken-shitted out. I saw just the bottom half of his swirling blue eyes and I’m quite certain my heart fell out of my ass. That must be what love feels like.
We parted ways. And I could feel him looking my way. As I turned around, he was gone. I lost my chance. Never again will I lose that chance. I will forever regret that. The rest of the night my heart pounded like the first time I looked down a mountain I was about to hurl myself down on skis. And I let it slip away. Never again.
I haven’t posted in a while, even though I have been writing. So heads up, I’m going to add a few things. If anyone cares…
Moving and traveling, I find this to be particularly true.
"…one feels freer speaking to a stranger than to people one knows. Why is that?"
I shrugged. “Probably because a stranger sees us the way we are, not as he wishes to think we are.”
Shadow of the Wind
Someone once said that the moment you stop to think about whether you love someone, you’ve already stopped loving that person forever.
Perhaps for that very reason, I adored her all the more, because of the eternal human stupidity of pursuing those who hurt us the most.
Heylo from New York
It’s startles me how someone from the past, years ago, can still effect me in such an overwhelming way. A dream, a couple thoughts, words from others regarding sour memories, and I feel the acid in my stomach make its way through my system. Just like the unpleasant feelings rise, so does the bile and foam of destructive words. Years, thousands of miles, inches taller, books, lovers, jobs later and yet I can’t completely shake the strings trying to tether me to the previous pain. It’s left behind like wine-ring stains on the woodgrain surface of my skin.
I’d say it’s about damn time to shed that skin of the past and hurdle myself into the tomorrow where loving is less terrifying and toxic.
Whenever I think of you, or your traveler’s soul, in my mind I see a spring (a coil even) — when you put a coil in its designated spot and you put pressure on it, it tenses up and shrinks until it becomes so rigid…one may rightfully fear that it might shoot straight in one’s face any minute. But when you take off the pressure, and you let it loose, it bounces from one place to another, until it finally rests in a place where there is no pressure at all, and all that is left for the spring is to lie still where it may, calm and free. That’s how I see you. You’re probably not the type of person who can or likes to stay in one place for long periods of time, at least not yet (that’ll come later on in life, I assume), because of a hundred and one reasons. I mean, you’ll get bored of the same faces, of the routine, of the ‘pressure’ (whether it’s social or otherwise) and so on. Once the opportunity reveals itself, you take it, and you start the next cycle of hopping, until it’s safe enough to rest again
So here I am, exactly a week away from picking up and moving all of my things again to a completely new place that will be quite foreign to me. This time, New York City.
Everyone I’m close with keeps saying how 6 months from Boston is such a long time, when to me, it seems like an extended holiday. It’s not that I don’t like people that I’m with or the apartment I live in, but at this point, I find that everything, and unfortunately everyone, is relatively temporary to me. So leaving yet another time, isn’t so earth shattering. I’ll scoop up my dwindling amount of belongings into some bags, and be on my way. No teary goodbyes. No going away parties. And to be honest, I’m quite certain very few people will even notice that I’m gone.
As for the few that will notice, thank you. I like to know some acknowledge my existence. I hope I’ll miss you too. I’m sure I will. Somewhere deeply rooted, there are feelings in me. And those feelings have missing abilities. I’m almost sure. They exercise themselves toward my mother and my dearest friends. So they’ll most likely stretch to those few dear Bostonians.
But as I said, this is an extended holiday. As is each move. Each location I suppose. And if that’s the case for me and my path, does that mean that each place and person will be equally as temporary? Or should I hold on to people when I can? I know what I’ve been doing so far but to be honest, the disposable nature of people in my life has become a little too morbid even for this slav.
If you’re going to be a dumb ass, go be a dumb ass by yourself.