Crimson Sheets

I don’t like people often.

What I mean to say is… I don’t like guys often.

There’s the occasional fleeting crush that I know won’t work out and that I wouldn’t want to work out. They don’t bother me. They’re usually just a silly giddy feeling that I’m never going to act on.

I did consider it recently… but then I thought better of it. It probably wasn’t what I wanted to do, deep down. I think it was just a nice feeling of feeling comfortable with someone, which is always nice because I’m usually so on edge. Nothing will happen from it, though, I’m sure.

I don’t want another kiss that shouldn’t have happened like my last one. Because that shouldn’t have happened. I’d had too much to drink and there was far too much going on in my head and heart for it to be anywhere near a healthy decision for either of us. And I think the guy in question probably remembers more than he lets on, which I’m perfectly fine with considering I ran away and cried.

None of that was his fault. Incredibly not his fault. It was all my own delicacies.

Then my mind went dark
We both forgot where your car was parked
Let’s just take the train
I’ll meet up with the band in the morning
Bad actors with bad habits
Some sad singers
They just play tragic

I didn’t feel enough for that person to let any kind of kiss to take place. Does that sound silly?

I suppose it does. But what’s the point in kissing someone that way if you don’t have deep enough feelings for them? I’m probably a dying breed in that sense. It seems to me, though, that when you kiss you’re sort of sharing a breath. Oxygen. For a couple of seconds, you’re breathing each other in and keeping each other alive.

Maybe that’s a silly romanticised version of what a kiss is…

Maybe I’m a silly romantic person and maybe that’s why I get hit so hard when people hurt my heart. I don’t like jumping into things with people if I only feel a vague crush though. Quick relationships with no real feelings aren’t for me. I’ll invest my heart in you. And I expect the same back.

I don’t see how that’s too much to ask for when we’re talking about love.

Being in a relationship is about being in love, not a vague inclination that you like somebody a bit more than just liking.

But whatever. I clearly think on these things too much.

And just because I don’t admit to every little feeling out loud doesn’t mean I don’t feel them. I’ve been hurt so many times in so many different ways, and made by so many people (not just men) to think that when I come out with all my sensitive stuff I’m being silly and neurotic so much so that nothing I say is taken seriously and is made fun of.

There seem to be too few people these days who truly agree with all of my romantic notions.

True love is dying.

And that pains me more than anything.

Coming Undone

And you are the violent delight that shakes my soul.
In the darkest hour, your lips can make me whole.
A slow, divining kiss of skin on skin,
With a sweet rawness that has you tempted in.
Hands on hands, clothes loosening, thin…
The succour of love in this intimate din.
Mingled breaths in shallow throated rasps
And the blind delight of opening clasps.
Thighs and fingertips to touch.
Filling up. Almost too much. 
Trembling hands on delicate flesh,
Heart bubbling and blessed. 
Eager eyes caught up. And words.
Stomach churning, singing with birds.
Flying. Ecstatic. Much too much. 
Feeling of letting go. One more touch-
Enough to beg blind and exclaim.
A please stop. Please yes. Not tame- 
Taste of lips, of tongue, of sex.
Almost dying of pleasurable agony complex. 
Reaching and screaming for more.
Back bending in an archéd contour. 
Bared. Open. Willing for you. 
And the moment when everything comes through. 
The quivering… The lulling of limbs… 
The hushing and slowing of things…
Ragged breaths in hazy concert,
Our heartbeats a drumming excerpt… 
This is our coming undone. 
Eyes trace kiss stained lips
Memorised by gentle fingertips…
Slow breathing and staring the same 
Of secrets you’d be willing to frame
Forever fixed inside your head
Of the things that as hearts our bodies have said. 
The gradual cradle of arms around whole… 
The silence of feelings that unspoken unfold…
Brush of fingers. Stray hair pushed back. 
Still staring. Moist lips waiting slack. 
Knowing this wasn’t a moment of fun.
This is our coming undone…

Questions?

Earth and sky
I don’t know why
But I
Think you’re trying to tell me
Something. 
And with your
Hidden eye
Behind
A lover’s sigh
Can I 
Learn to understand you? 
And when you
Understand
I want to
Hold your hand
Will you
Be the same or different? 
If you
Kiss my face
With a
Warm embrace
Am I
Now allowed to miss you?
Is this
Just too much
Or 
Just enough?
Am I
Required to stop
Or push? 
Would it
Be too late 
If I
Request a date,
Cooked you
Dinner or
Something? 
Is it
A little weird,
Or
All you feared
Or 
Making up
For lost time? 
Do we
Stand outside
Wait 
For a ride
And 
Question what
We’re doing?

Last Night

So fucked up by so many men
I just can’t do this any more
Don’t even have a piece of paper and a pen
So I can scrawl it on the floor.
Too many thoughts and too much pain
It keeps creeping through the window pane
I try to shut it out but it just stares in
A mutated silence with a raucous din
Feelings of us, of me, of you…
I can’t block them out. They’re always coming through.
It’s like catching snowflakes on your tongue
The time dissolving before it’s even begun.
Passion stolen from my burdened heart 
Leaves a crushing, empty, broken art.
It’s wanting feelings without feelings
With hope that scrapes the ceilings –
A sensation too tall
I wonder if it’s worth the fall.
And this brief, momentary crush
Is a strip worth deleting in an obituary hush.
It means nothing to me. No desire. No flame.
It’s like the fire burned out beneath the spin light game.

A Kiss Is For All I’m Good

I didn’t mean to do it – rest my thoughts on you.
I never even blew it. Only realised what was true.
Hard to accept that my heart’s gone blind.
Wasn’t falling out of love but into an empty mind.
I kind of craved a kiss I knew he’d never give.
It was nothing more than this – checking that I still live.
Pressed up in the corner, wondering about the change,
Now I’m just a flaunter of a shell I can’t rearrange.
The men they seem to like it. Stop. Stand. Stare. Smile.
But the thing they need to learn is that I’m not worth their while.
I really wish I could be, yet behind the looks
Is an empty silhouette of proseless poetry books.
I’ll dance with you. I’ll smile. I’ll play.
But learn that there is nothing at the end of the day.
My passion’s gone awry, my friend, for that is all that we can be
Think on with your inner eye, yet there is naught more that I can see.
Choose which excuse that serves you best.
I’ll pretend it’s true at your pride’s request.
I wish that I could love you. I wish I really could.
I’m sorry that I can’t – a kiss is for all I’m good…

Also, sorry for the lack of fiction last Friday. Unfortunately I was struck down by a migraine. Ended up voiding a favour for a friend and skipping work so I could cry in pain in a darkened room all day. Hopefully there will be fiction for you this Friday, though.

Ciao.

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