I saw your ghost again

I can’t remember what attraction looked like before your eyes.

I’m haunted by you.

Your lips. Your stare. Your everything.

I can only see you. I think this may be how I serve my sentence. In love with someone who is in everyone, but never her.

Ten Minutes To Midnight

It’s ten minutes to midnight and you just went to bed, but I’m left lingering in my chair for a short while after.  Your scent is holding just under my nose and on my fingers and absolutely on my lips.  Along with your taste.

I could have went to bed with you.  Your arm was stretched out and holding mine as you tugged lightly and let my hand slip through your fingers.  Instead I shook my head and waved you off.

“In a minute,” I said.

You shrugged with a smile and headed on without me.  Your body swayed and your hips shook until you faded into the darkness and left me with my thoughts.

Those thoughts were part of why I couldn’t go with you.  Not yet.  I wanted to savor the feeling.  The experience of you.  Those thoughts were going to be scorched into my memory while my body was too weak to move.

I don’t know how you got up so steadily.  Maybe you collapsed on the bed in a heap once you made it, but I couldn’t even fake it for that long.  You know how to take me apart and leave me in pieces.  My hands are too shaky to put myself back together right away, I need a minute.  You’re masterful at making me need to recover.

I’ll be in there soon.  I’ll be in there with you.  I may even find a surge and try to do further damage to your skin with my teeth and nails.  Knock your bones off of their joints and make you walk funny just for me.  You’ve already done it my way plenty of times.

It’s now three minutes to midnight.  I’ve sat long enough.  I want to turn today into tomorrow against you.


The Physics of You

Good mornings were meant for pleasant people with pleasant things to say to each other on their way to their normal lives and their standard living arrangements. You’re more than a good morning. You’re more than pleasant. You’re a dirty deed not yet acted on.
Something creeping in the back of my mind not yet fully developed but far enough along that I know I want to do something to you. But what?

You’ve got your sly smile from behind your honey-kissed hair. You’re so fucking sweet too, that nectar that’s coating your lips is addictive. Sting me with them and cause my skin to welt from your nails dug in tight. Leave marks I’ll have to explain away much further in the future than I’ve ever thought about.

I’ve thought about waking you up with your hands pinned to the bed in a jolt. Your legs loosely on either side of me and I’m jostling your body up and down slowly. What does it feel like to wake up with someone between your legs and staring into your eyes? Tell me. I want to watch the words float from your lips as I stare in your smokey eyes.

Lets not waste a morning on good mornings. We should spend each one finding what curves of our bodies fit best against each other, and when they don’t fit we’ll crash ourselves into each under until they do. Bend me. Break me. Let me feel your fingers snaking around my neck to edge me further.

Push. Physics is simple, for ever action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I want to test every possible one.

I’m not saying good morning. I’m saying get up, lets have some fun.

Comfortable Isn’t A Dirty Word

Words have meaning, what’s funny about that is the different meanings that words have for different people.

I called you comfortable and you got mad.

“What am I, a fucking sofa?”  You launched at me.

I was taken back.

“No.  You’re comfortable for me.  I’m comfortable with you.  I don’t have to try so hard.”

As soon as those words left my lips I knew they were wrong.  Your eyes narrowed and your arms became unfolded.
The only thing worse than a woman looking at you while her arms are folded is when you say something that makes her have to unfold them.

“So you don’t bother trying when you’re with me?”

The exasperation in your voice had lowered to a laser-pointed focus.  I felt as if I were  under a spotlight and you were interrogating me.  My words were now going to have to be chosen with precision.

“That’s not what I meant.  I meant that you aren’t high maintenance.  You aren’t a girl that needs constant fluffing of her ego and reassurance.  When I want you all I have to do is walk up to you from behind and slip my arms around your waist.  I hook my thumbs in your waist band and hang them there so gravity can pull at them.  My cheek rubs against yours and you can feel the day and a half hair growth scratching against your skin.  You melt when I do that.”

You only let out a “mmhmm,” that was barely audible.  It didn’t let me know if you were reconsidering your stance or if you weren’t convinced yet.  Either way I wasn’t done.

“You are comfortable to me.  The word must have different meaning to you.  We work well together.  There aren’t any games we play.  There isn’t that confusion of what the other person wants.  We know we just want each other.  We’re comfortable enough that you can walk up and kick my feet apart and drop down into my lap before you shove your tongue down my throat.  All in one continuous movement.  It’s the sexiest fucking thing when you do that.”

It really was the absolute sexiest thing you did.  There was a hunger in your movements when you hunted me like that.  You would purposely stay out of my line of vision so I didn’t see you coming, as if you were a cat hunting its meal.

When you finally got to the clearing and there was nowhere else for you to hide you would pounce.  Your path took you in a straight line towards me and you would kick my feet apart.  Occasionally you’d drop down to your knees and I’d go unconscious as you wiped the world away from your lips, but most of the time you’d heavily set yourself on my lap so I could feel you.  A hard thud of your body onto mine so  I’d look at you in your eyes and I’d see the lust building.

“Yeah well, I’m not a god damn old blanket, okay?  Find a better word.”

You never admitted defeat, you just changed the subject.  Battles were never lost that way.  Uncomfortable moments were never allowed to linger.  The topic moved to the next train station as abruptly as possible, so much so that to question the change would be even more awkward.

I didn’t stop calling you comfortable though.  I didn’t do it on purpose, it just happened.  It was something that was deep in me because my soul was at ease using that word for you.  Being close to you was like laying in my own bed after a long trip away.  If that’s not comfortable then I don’t know what the word means, and if being called that isn’t a good thing then I don’t know what anything means.


Honey Doesn’t Spoil

I’ve tried to write you a number of times now.  The title of this has changed a few times over because the words never landed quite right.  I wanted them to fit into something perfect.  A reflection of you but you’re not so easily reflected.

I could jump into a tirade about how I want you.  I could rant about how I need you.  There would be words spilled all over your thighs and between your legs.  The drip from my lips would coat your nipples and run up your neck.  The black ink from my pen would bleed along your jaw.  I would write you underneath me and I would write me inside of you.

None of it felt right though.  I don’t want it forced.  You can’t be forced.

Recently I was told that one of the only substances to never go bad is honey.  That there are deposits of honey that were buried with the pharaohs and were considered still good today.  Thousands of years and it can still be consumed, it sounded pretty amazing.  Honey doesn’t spoil and it made me think of you.

Your honey golden hair and that sticky taste of your kisses.  How I could come back to them after a long time apart and they’ll still have the perfect feel against mine.

I can move my fingers through your hair and feel like I can never get them out.  They’re stuck and are refusing to move.  My lips too.  My eyes.  My body.  All against you and wanting to remain.

You’re my personal taste of honey.  You’ll be just as good no matter the time we spend between swallows.

Help Me With My Words Again

I’ve been in a fog lately.  The words keep slipping out of my grasp.  They’re out there, all of them.  They’re floating around in the mist and I can see the outline as they drift by, just as I can see your silhouette in a dark room against the moonlight’s shine.

I don’t know if I’d call it a block.  I’m not really sure what a block is actually but I have the idea, its merely the execution that seems to be struggling.  But I have you so I know it’s just a matter of time.  You always help bring back the waterfall, the faucet just needs your touch.

Call it inspiration.  Call it anything you want, but you’ve always been the muse to kiss my words and make them pretty.  You are the reason I can write.  You are the reason I continue.  You are the reason I can begin again.

Sweet lips are overrated

Kisses aren’t sweet.  They’re described as if they’re a sugary dessert.  Something with a whipped topping.  A treat after a long day or the delicious cap to a full meal, but they aren’t anything like that.

A kiss, if you had to describe it with a food analogy, is more of a steak.  Medium rare.  The right amount of pink and the right amount of something else.  It’s dripping and sizzling at the same time.  It makes your mouth water in anticipation and when you finally delve in you don’t want to stop until there’s nothing left.

You’re like that.  You aren’t sweet.  When they made you they purposely left out the sugar and threw in some extra spice.  It shows up in your smirk, in your hips and in the back of your eyes when they glint against the light.

You sear my skin when you lay your body against me.  You leave marks and they burn deep.  A cake is just bread with sweetener.  You’re much more appetizing than that.  I think about you all day and when it’s time to feast you can’t stop me.  You make me hungry.  I want to leave the impressions of my teeth on your shoulder.  I want to hear the sounds the deepest part of your throat can muster.

Kisses aren’t sweet, at least yours aren’t.  Your kisses are a tidal wave and I want to get swept away.

I’ve fallen off the wagon

Pretty girls are my weakness.  Saying that is like saying I like chocolate.  It’s no discovery of epic proportions but at least admitting it is something I can hold onto.
Pretty girls are my weakness and I’ve got nothing else to add, except everything else that will follow.

I froze.  I froze when I saw you because I didn’t expect to lay eyes on you again and when I did it felt like winter set in an instant.  It had been coming for a few weeks now but it jumped the barrier and made itself at home.
Have you ever poured salt on a patch of ice?  It makes a crackling sound the way milk in a bowl of rice krispies does.  That’s the sound I heard when I saw you.  A deep patch of ice being melted slowly in an uneven way.  Sinking down to the bottom and exposing what was hiding beneath.

I jumped off the wagon and seemed to have left my words on it.  The wheel fell off and spilled them all over the road and now I’m trying to gather them up mixed in with mud and grass and whatever else is on the road.

Now my words aren’t lost, they’re just harder to come by.  I don’t know if its your stare or your presence or what but I’m not starting off a new year in a new and better way with them.  My words are always so fickle, it seems.  They come as they please and they do what they want.

Troublesome little things, words are sometimes.


“Close your eyes for a moment and listen.  Stop thinking, stop questioning and do it.  I’ll wait.”

She hated giving in but she decided to concede for a moment.

“You better not do anything to me or touch me or try to scare me.  I’ll fucking sock you one, hard.”

“Shh.  Close your eyes.”

I waited ten seconds for her to settle before speaking again.

“Now don’t say a word and try to move as little as possible until I tell you I’m done.”

I was only a foot away from her.  We were sitting in the car in the back of the parking lot at the grocery store.  It was late and there weren’t many people around.  The car was off and there was no sound except the occasional car zooming by on the highway that ran next to the parking lot.

“You’re you and I’m me and we’ve got this thing between us.  We also have our own things going on separately and we can’t spend every moment we want to with each other.”

My voice was soft.  I had to concentrate to keep it as monotone and straight as possible.  It often fluctuates to eccentric when I’m the only one talking, as if I forgot how to speak as if I were a normal person.  I maintained it now as well as I ever had before.

“So I want you to try and imagine, without guilt or wariness, that it was just us in another plane of existence.  Somewhere that we could be we and nothing else was in our way.  No schedules or interruptions.  It was just like this, the two of us, only closer.”

A transport trucked whizzed by and the car rocked back and forth in its wake.  We both remained still.

“I want you to think of this other world us and imagine yourself there in other world you.  I want you to think of tonight in the stillness of the night in a quiet house with all but one tiny desk light on to peek through the room.  It’s just us there laying on the couch together enjoying the sounds of each others breathing.  My hands are in your hair and your making soft cooing sounds every few minutes.”

I grazed my finger tip along the side of her neck and around the back of it.  Her held tilted and a soft sound was muffled by her closed lips.

“It’s Christmas Eve and it’s just us.  The night is creeping on and we’re stretching it out as far as it will go.  We’ll eventually slip away to the bedroom and stick our bodies together as if they were made of glue but not before our eyes got heavy.”

My fingertips slipped through her dark hair and let it cascade downward out of my hand.

“When we woke up the next morning we’d let the day slip away.  Christmas morning would be Christmas afternoon before we decided to get out of bed and join the world.  We’d be able to do anything.  Presents.  Slip into the car for a drive anywhere just to enjoy the lonely roads together.  It was as if the world fell asleep and forgot to wake up with us and we were going to take advantage of it.”

I wasn’t looking at you.  I was speaking down your body.  I knew if I was speaking at you and looking at you that it wouldn’t last long enough because you’d tell me to stop.  Now I was almost done.

“So tonight and tomorrow when you’re with you and I’m with me remember to close your eyes and catch a flash of us.  That’s where we can be together when we can’t be together.  I hope you can make it.  Alright, I’m done.”

Then I leaned in and kissed her on the shoulder and stopped talking.