Revisiting, again

It’s funny how easy it is for you to seem like you don’t even care. Not funny in the natural sense of the word, obviously, but funny how you made it seem like you ever did at all. I can’t tell though, did you?

Reading someone else’s mind isn’t easy, although I thought I was good at it before. Now? I’m convinced I don’t know what anyone is thinking at any moment no matter how obvious they’re being. You’ve really ruined every shred of confidence I ever had in being with other people. Maybe that’s my own fault. Which is that fucked up kind of funny again because we we’re never really together anyways.

You really do make it look easy though, forgetting me. I wish I was as good as it as you are, but that’ll be just another thing that I fail at. I’ll remember you and ache for it until the light in my eyes go dark.

Maybe you were just trying to get rid of me, that’s what I keep circling back to. You had a taste and the sweetness stroked your palate enough to keep you coming back for a little while, then something happened. Was it too sweet or not enough? I often think it was too much, that seems to be the theme of you when it comes to me.

“If I’m too much go find less,” as the phrase goes.

You didn’t even wait for me to say it.

Together

Can you imagine it, what together feels like? It’s not a word that exudes a certain feeling but if you asked someone and they gave it a moment of thought I believe you’d get an answer that would satisfy your mind and your heart. So, as you sit there in your pretty dress with your pretty smile and your pretty eyes, can you imagine what together feels like? Would you whisper your answer in my ear and cause a shiver to pour through me? Will you let your dangling strands of milk chocolate brown hair caress my cheek and overwhelm me to where I can’t help but pull you into my arms?

Together, to me, feels like warmth on a cold day. Sharing a blanket and your weight pressed into me as if we’re one entity. It’s also a quiet summer night in a darkened room, save the yellow glow of two lamps on either side of a couch. Our bare legs stretched out and intertwined, mine between yours and yours on top of mine. One of my hands clasping a book while the other kneads at the soles of your feet, my ears gifted with soft pleasured sounds slipping past your lips.

Every time I would look up at you as you made one of those sounds. I don’t know if you we’re doing it on purpose or if its involuntary, but eventually you catch me looking and begin to do it more often. Our eyes catch and you’d bite your lower lip. That would be the end of it. The end of me. The end of the book and the end of the saccharine moment we were sharing, because I’d stare into your green eyes and get jealous of your teeth biting into your lip.

I would split your legs and summit your body. My hands beginning their trek at your hips and dragging all the way up until they dive deep into your hair, pulling it back. My fingers through your hair like forks through sand.

My lips wouldn’t have the same patience. They would dive immediately for yours and indulge in a kiss that started in the middle as if it were paused from the night before. The soft and gentle moans from my hands on your feet would sound like a Disney movie compared to the NC-17 designation I would pull from you. The windows would fog with steam and after our deeds were done we’d be thankful that the house was empty, as we made no consideration for others when letting our lungs loose to play.

And then we’d lay there together, again. Some of our clothes in various stages of wear, while other pieces at random distances around the room. My hungry lips unable to stop feeding itself with quick, repeated pecks of your cheek and shoulder. Your hands traveling my thighs, up and down, before they reach to hook on the back of my head and pull me in for another kiss in an awkward and stretched behind you kind of way.

Together. The two of us.

Wasting another night against each other and redefining the way we think of certain words.

In some other life

Accidents are funny things, most often associated with destruction, anger or sadness.

A collision.

A betrayal.

An ending.

Conversely, there are happy accidents as well. Positive outcomes that cause you to stumble into something and makes your smile beam like an inextinguishable ray of light.

It’s serendipitous, like two people reaching for the same glove in a department store or sitting next to each other randomly in a movie theater. A conversation happens over the glove, or a catch of the eye on the way out of the theater. Fireworks from there.

Or better yet, they happen to be in the same room at the same time with all other distractions held at bay just long enough to give each other a chance. Who knows what might come from that. Who knows what still may come. Accidents happen, and sometimes they work out better than you would have ever imagined.

Dream A Little A Dream Of Me

“Hey, come’re,” he said as he took her hand.

“Why, what? What are you doing?” She pulled back slightly, confused.

“Just go with, baby,” he reached again and held out his upturned palm, this time waiting for her to offer her hand back.

She sighed a smile and dropped her hand in his as if it were a rock into the mud. He was in a mood and she could tell by the smile on his face. It was a mischievous smile, but the mischief was harmless. He wanted to play with her, but she found he always picked the oddest times.

He started humming and pulled her toward him. His right hand clasping her left with his left hand settled on her hip. She recognized the tune vibrating from his lips but she couldn’t quite place it. It was familiar. It was old. It was the perfect amount of peculiarity she’s become used to with him.

“Stars shining bright above you/Night breezes seem to whisper “I love you”/Birds singing in the sycamore trees/…“

“Dream a little dream of me,” she finished the words for him in her sing-song-y voice.

She pulled her left hand from his and, along with her right, extended them behind his head and dangled them loosely on his shoulders. Both of his hands were now clasping her waist and they swayed together slowly in a softly broken silence with his humming and her angelic voice.

The room was dark and it was late, neither of them were really sure what the exact time was but the streetlights were humming and the neighbor’s living room’s were all dark. The two of them had gotten lost in each other for most of the evening and just decided to move the festivities to the bedroom when he had a moment of inspiration and took her hand. They now swayed in the moonlight that shone in through the window and reflected off of the dining room table, which gave the room a spotlight glow. Their bodies moved just outside the glow but with enough reflection where he could see her lips moving as she continued to sing.

“Say nightie-night and kiss me,” her voice punctuated the last two words and she bit her lip while looking to him. He followed suit with a press of his lips to hers. It was a simple kiss that held them together with the softest touch, but evolved quickly into his tongue penetrating her mouth and lapping at hers while his hands gripped her tight and her arms bent around his neck.

When the kiss finally broke, she continued, “just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me, while I’m all alone and blue as can be, dream-a little dream-of me.”

Her voice stopped for a moment at each mention of the word dream. She looked at him and into his eyes and the light bounced around in them as he smiled. She squeezed herself around his neck and brought her lips back to his and he indulged in another kiss before pulling back and stared back into hers and the smiling beaming back at him.

He sang back to her, “sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you. But in your dreams, whatever they be, won’t you dream a little dream of we.”

She bit her lip and pressed herself into him as hard as humanly possible at his changing of the last verse. She shook her head and dipped her eyes from his, “come on. Let’s go or we’ll wake the sun.”

He twirled her once and she led him to the bedroom, their fingers clasped in a hook the entire way down the hall. The door closed to soft squeals and low growls that filled their sheets until they fell into their own dreams, lingering in them until dawn.

Drowning in love for her

He loved her. It was obvious to everyone that he did, but nobody knew how much. The waters were rough on top but the depths steadied his love. He loved her right down to the ocean floor along the untouched sands. Past the wrecked ships and sea life he loved her through every wave that crashed on shore. And just like those waves his love never stopped. It may have lessened in force or ferocity, but there was always a storm brewing nearby that would rage the intensity for her again.

Why not another one, hm?

I sent you a song the other day. I said I thought you’d like the guy’s voice. You said you’d add it to the list and sent one back.

I listened to it and liked it. I usually do like your suggestions, but I don’t know if I like them because I like them or do I like them because you suggested them. Have you gotten so deep inside that you’re affecting me that much, that I can’t decide whether I’m me or I’m me because of how it relates to you?

The latter would make sense. I’m sure everyone would believe it too.

You never answered whether you liked my suggestion or not. Figures. I’ve always liked you more than you’ve liked me, and I guess that’s the eternity that I’m left to wade through.

I love a girl who doesn’t love me back.

It’s not her fault though.

I’m just tired and I wish I could stop, but love’s hunger is everlasting.

I can’t let go and I’m not sure that I want to

The problem is that when we first got involved my heart reached out and became intertwined with yours. It turned its beats to sync with yours. It’s blood pumped the same as yours. It wanted to be everything you needed to be happy.

But as we grew apart, each time, it refused to go back to what it was before. It was still yours.

And so, my heart is still attached. All of the others that grabbed hold in the past, they all let go. Mine won’t. It refuses, holding on for everything new its become as if it can’t live without holding onto a part of you.

4am girl

Did you ever have that 4am someone? That person who was just yours? They felt like four in the morning when nobody else in the world was awake and the entirety of civilization belonged to the two of you.

I did once. She was magnificent.

We spent the days trading stares and notes. They weren’t love notes though, they were lust notes. A message of what I wanted to do to her and a reply with how her body would react. We were chemistry.

All responsibilities were eschewed. Our employers paid us to talk about how we would have fucked if we were in the same room. There’s no way we could have stayed employed if we had access to each other’s bodies though. I would have made her scream and she would have pulled beautiful obscenities from my lips, at least when they weren’t glued to her.

At night we pulled away from the world and lounged in purgatory. She would straddle my lap and pin me happily beneath her as her arms were lazily draped over my shoulders. The living were acknowledged, but we pushed past them to get lost in the abyss together. The clocks never worked right. Everything felt like that magical point of time where it all stopped and there was no sound aside from our lips smacking against each other.

Her tongue weakened me. My strength waned in her presence. She pulled the life from me and all I wanted was for it to never stop. I wanted to die at her touch.

We never made it to 4am, but whenever we were together she silenced the streets and quieted the crowds as if it were.

Sword for hire

When the world’s land was still virgin and her many corners free from man’s touch,
all arms were called when they were ready with sword and shield in their clutch.

A boy was no longer a child when he could see past his father’s shoulder
His training to begin on that day of birth, though the mothers wished them to be older.

There was a common tale that the mothers would tell their sons
When they were reaching the age of height and their time with them was done.

The tale they told their sons was about a man who wielded a heavy sword
Although his name was legend more than truth it was hoped to strike a chord.

The man’s name was Reysart of Ilde and all boys would know his story
He was feared by kings and peasants, yet they all knew his glory

He bested men twice his size and many more who were the same or less.
There was no man alive who was his equal, nor a beast he could not best.

His abilities were unparalleled and he was famous for his fighting skill
In his youth he was arrogant and brash and hired only to kill.

Death became his partner and a dark cloak he’d wear from town to town
On a horse he would ride through the darkness like a ghost wrapped in a shroud.

An uprising that a king wanted quelled with no doubt it would never restart
Reysart would ride in cover of night and burn each house and stop each heart

Any who made it from their burning homes would find a man standing en garde
The sword, Pale Silver, in his hands to finish off that which wasn’t charred.

He would cut down each man and boy as bodies littered the ground
Ordered to let none survive, women and children were among the dead found.

Even the hardest man alive who would cut down an innocent soul
would grow weary of a life made from loss as years of death took their toll.

The youthful energy that pushed him to start had long melted away
He found there was no joy in killing and realized his life had gone astray.

Pale Silver had spilled the blood and those deeds could not be undone
Many men would seek him out for vengeance, their swords pointed in a flood.

His end of life would be on edge and the man once feared could never rest
Grayness of beards come for all men alive, it’s the one thing even he could not best.

At some point he would be found and a sword point would run itself through his gut
Words of revenge would be the last thing he heard before his eyes finally shut.

Mothers of boys who become men would tell this story so their sons would know
Out in the world there were evils of all kinds and they come from high and low.

There are men who have no morals and who kill for sport and gold
They have no code to live by and will kill young, innocent and old.

They come in men who are better than you no matter how good you think you may be
Someone, somewhere, will beat the best there is and you won’t have time to flee.

So even if you are the best that ever was you won’t be the best for your whole life
Remember this story and remember who you are.  Be safe and stay alive.