Categories
Prose

The Candle Flickers

A throttle to slow down and reverse, backing out of dead ends and alleyways, one way streets and cul-de-sacs. Typo? Negative. This sentence had the subject it needed, which is this sentence. Another sentence, the longest one yet, was soon to come to an end.

Sometimes love takes a while. A lifetime, or five minutes. Sometimes both. We had a false start, where our broken pieces stuck each other. We had to adjust and twist and fix ourselves a little bit, studying us to see how they could fit.

You study my depths so you can dive in them, exploring my darkest secrets. You touch my insides fearlessly, as your skin touches mine. Your eyes light up and I feel your power on my skin. The autumn leaves blow around us, cloaking us in shameless carnality. We are soaking wet, having splashed through that fucking water on our way to forever.

I tiptoe across your skin, leaving nothing but blue electric prints on your thighs and brilliant red marks crackling on your backside. I glide across your curves, taking the tight turns recklessly and risking crashing into you with abandon. Your lips are an open invitation to pleasure, which I willingly accept. My gift to you is sensuously thoughtful, the kind that keeps on giving. I keep on giving it to you, and you accept it eagerly and quickly. You bare your throat to me, asking me to leave a mark. You’ve left an impression on my everything.

We are the scholars teaching each other about life and love, and we always finish our lessons with high marks. Your course for me is hard, but I’m up to the task. I make you stay after, keeping you for private lessons. We realize the lessons we’ve already learned, and eagerly await new experiences. We profess our undying love, and learn each other’s bodies instead.

Categories
Prose

Cancel Sandman

Delete the dream police. Cancel sandman. The rain will soothe and cleanse. The audience pretends.

Void the mystic doormen. Bouncers bounce at Simon’s orders. The pain will groove and shred. The audience is dead.

Smile against the fire. Token esteem wasted in the first scene. The lovers will join your fight. The audience was right.

Scream into the twilight. Sunset boulevard car crash. The others set you on fire. The audience a choir.

This shadow isn’t big enough for the both of us. You’ll have to get into mine, or be left behind. Should have stepped up. Instead you messed up. And all the string and feelings and wine and music can’t fix it.

I can unbreak this egg. Can you unswallow that bitter pill?

Categories
Prose

Destiny And Honey

You straddle my feelings, not sure if you want to tip me to anger or sorrow, but passion and brambles are in my eyes. What are feelings, anyway, but the too-hot emotions that boil over and spill out onto your thighs? My sleepy eyes stay closed against your brilliance and honey. Coffee smells so good, but not as good as your jasmine and ocean breezes.

The battle between good and sleep continues in my mind, but you somehow champion delicious reasons to awaken. You always do. I open the vaults that contain my longing gaze, and show you my forever.

Categories
Story

Domination, Plus Tip

She seemed evasive, but he was always sure to ask her open-ended questions. He didn’t want her escaping with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. He wanted details.

She seemed anxious, but he kept up the pressure and she finally submitted. She learned that she enjoyed submitting to him, a fact that made her feel almost naughty.

“Okay. Yes, I would like my steak medium rare, with a side of the lobster tail, please, and braised asparagus with pine nuts and pesto. Thank you.”

He knew he had her then.

Categories
Prose

Bedroom Storm – Take Covers

Bashed you over the head with my feelings. I painted a picture with words, and a picture of words with paintings, painting word pictures on pages and walls and trees. Icicle frenzy gripped the monocle of the eye of the hurricane.

Tentative and certain, like a dance with the wrong music, I embrace your strangeness. Your brand of beauty is not available in stores. I couldn’t have tried more if I tried. You took me out of the friend zone, and put me in your bed with a whisper.

I whispered back silently, wordlessly, though I still used my tongue. You reacted just how I had hoped, and then some. Hope was the last thing in Pandora’s box, and I wanted to be the last thing in yours.

The hurricane looked away, blushing.

Categories
Prose

Sweltering

The heat collapses into melody, baring souls no longer present. A wild memory appears. It is super effective. The mind establishes the Moria bridge, refusing to move or die. Shadows fill the stands, silently cheering.

This time, simply existing is winning. A harder game, when doing nothing seems the wrong move. The wrong love. Cross. Don’t fight. Don’t remember or look back. Quests no longer lie in the swelter. The other side of the pillow beats the south side of the sky.

Magic is real. It’s just hard to perform.

Categories
Philosophy Prose

Perfect Moments In Memory Glass

This is about love.

I watched this movie on Netflix called The Map of Tiny Perfect Things, and it was amazing. Hit me right in the feels. At the end, it was talking about perfect moments, and I realized that I wrote a poem about perfect moments for my middle brother’s wedding – read it during the ceremony, in fact. It’s this:

Eternal Matrimony

I don’t care that you’re running
I know you’re not running away
I don’t mind the mountains you climb
I know you’re not just with me ‘because I’m there’
I don’t mind if you look at another
I know you’re thinking of me
I don’t worry when you’re gone
I know you walk beside me
I don’t care that I may never get everything I want
You are all I need
I’m not upset by the raging river of differences between us
The stepping stones of perfect moments bring me to you
I don’t worry about your past
It brought you to me, and us to this perfect moment
And from this perfect moment to the next
Though our lips part, still we kiss
Though our hands let go, still we touch
Though our eyes close, still we see one another
Though our voices are raised, still we whisper
Of perfect moments and perfect love

In the middle of the movie somewhere, she said she’d only be friends. He wanted more. Unrequited love. And I realized that the moment before it became manifest, the love he felt – the love I feel for someone – is a perfect one. It’s like love is a baseball that can be thrown around and used to play fun games, but the minute it’s unrequited it is like a baseball signed by a World Series winning team. Sure, you worship it, cherish it, look at it from every facet, but you never touch it again, for fear of diminishing its value.

Some perfect moments need to be felt by feeling the feeling of remembering the perfect moment, rather than feeling the moment itself. I’m afraid that reliving the moment itself will eventually make that moment like any moment, one of many, a drop in the ocean, a raindrop in the sky.

A raindrop falling from the vast sky into the vast ocean.

Instead of that one raindrop that causes me and the person I love to smile and laugh and run like crazy for shelter from the storm that just started, and then watching it and listening to each drop, none of them like that first one.

Sometimes an entire person is encased in memory-glass. You can’t go back, you know. You can only remember.

Categories
Prose

William Tell Over With

A cornucopia of worldwide utopia, sending hope to both of you, betrothed to you. Caterwauling storms bring drops and clatters, stabbing through hearts into the heart of something that doesn’t even matter, and even if it did, where is it on the wind? Wind up and unwind, to bring pieces of mind to act as the stones one might use to cross the river of blues.

You can’t go back. When you do go back, it’s either a painful reminder to you of what went wrong, or it’s a rejection of what you once were, plural and singular, and you’re putting the ‘sing’ in singular.

Blood ripping through my veins, dripping out of hearts and coffee and goddamns

…you would say, in variants and versions and sequels, like war drums, because you had actually declared war against everyone. You thought everyone had battled you for so long, that you went through learning it, through experiencing it, past expecting it, and straight on to causing it. Certainty was the pillow you lay your head on, and correctness was the sheet you slept under. You had guns, and you had ammunition, but one of them was wrong, so every time you hit your target, and you always hit your target, there was a little bit of backlash – and there was always backlash.

I was never sure if I should take away your guns, or your ammunition, or stand back and bandage your wounds… but I was always sure you wanted me standing downrange with an apple on my head.

Categories
Poetry

Life, Love, And Sleeping In

Life imagines us piece by piece, creating us from raindrops and beach sand and autumn leaves. Colors, sadness and tranquility blown by the wind carve ruts in our skin, reminding us of what is missing. 


Love molds us with hands and caresses, asking us what we want, what shape we should take, how many times we should kiss, until the clouds and smoke bring us down to ground level, shaking the earth beneath our feet.

Categories
Prose

My Favorite Season Is Falling In Love

I fell and tripped and caught myself, and caught myself staring, and stared back at the past, and stared at you until you looked back, wondering why I looked so intently. Intensely, as if a car crash had become a field of flowers that I couldn’t see enough of.

You danced on the edge of my reality as the vaguely sweet smell of the season of you filled the air. I ordered you, sipped your delicious flavors, savored your scintillating aromas, drank you in, and felt your warmth. My name was on your cup, along with exactly what I wanted.

Could I have chosen more wisely? I didn’t trust myself. I hadn’t become good at the other person, only myself. I relied on you to be good at us until I could practice. You showed me a thing or two. You taught me a few tricks and tips. I shared with you everything I knew, but you were all I knew when you were around.

My watch stopped. I stopped watching for the next one and the next one. This is where I wanted to be. You were where I wanted to be. You were the scenery and the journey and the cabin on the lake. You were the fireplace and the snowflakes on my tongue. You were home.

When I was a child, I’d fall asleep here, and wake up there. It was always my favorite trick, until you came along and made my walls disappear.