I'll never forget the things I can't remember.


Posts tagged with "writing"

A totem of her lips is a relic I would worship. Stacked one above the other, they would need to be built into the heavens to account for how many kisses they will receive from me. That’s infinity, never-ending, much like my loyalty to her, forever growing.

Feb 9

I see your silhouette outlining the bedsheets, curves where they should be, knees and feet somehow angled perfectly to show that it is you lying in my bed comfortably awaiting my touch, my reach, the slow moving of my ring finger up your thigh because I am particular when moving closer, closer with one finger slower, and faultless, faithful, while another finger falls to meet another finger, to finally form a grip sliding up your thighs, to pull slightly and know with tips pressed further forward you are ready for the kiss I never stop imagining placing on the fullness of your lips…

Feb 7

Imprint your kiss onto my skin. Let your lips linger and leave a haunting of love I’ll remember well after you’ve gone.

Feb 1

Come home to me, I have our world set up perfectly, where the stagnant is never welcome, the dregs of the day dissipate with each desired kiss, and We are only dependent on one another. Come home to me, the lights are always shining brightly to show I’m waiting up patiently to hold you tightly. The kettle is ready for boiling, dinner is awaiting serving, and dessert is always a choice of me, me or me with some sort of frosting, maybe sprinkled with confectionary, but dessert will always be something affectionate, for I am a sweetmeat, here to curb your cravings. Come home to me. All paths lead you from A to B but do not go to C. I am at A and I want you to be coming back to me.

I reach out, stretching and searching, blindly and eagerly, where there’s nothing, not a vapor of Your presence, no answers to my questions, rhetorical or straight-forward, I am guessing at my own inquiries, leaving little to say to fill a void left open for everything.

Here comes a time in life when the moment a secret needs to be reaveled is the first option, second to forgetting and running away swiftly, either one should suffice, except I believe honesty should not be a regret but the crash to awaken what lies dormant. The dead stay in graves wishing for more chances, their spirit a reminder to never quit, because we only get one opportunity, one lifetime to make it work, and complaining never solved anything, it only ruins the pleasure of living.

Why will I learn more when death is sitting close to me, salivating over my failing body, ready to snatch my senses from their purposes, leaving me dark where light once was. It is then when I will realize the end is truly an end, and I should not let what I do not have, be the main reason that I am.

It’s my sadness you want. I understand now. Good advice, a happy thought, these things are of no interest. It is my demise which does the job. It is what I wish to flush away which keeps intrigue.

When I am somewhere near the end, excitement for my death begins, the joy of my life a hindrance.

Continue and then keep going, ponder while moving forward, stopping only allows others to pass.

Go! and debate the reasons why turned into why not, the answers are all around and sitting complacent will not allow the stars to fall in line with the wishes left lost among the cosmos, each wasted wish a wish to not have to wish any longer.

There’s no day like today to tear apart what has always been whole. Rip and claw and scratch until shreds are left.

Jan 8

Understand my fortuitous attitude is in no way an attempt to prove I’m always right.

Jan 3

It is family who keep me humble. Having them is the greatest gift. It is through them that I know my flaws, my strengths, and I would be lost without them. We each handle life so differently, even after being raised the same way, that I love seeing and hearing their points of view on the same situations I’m always thinking of. And that is all I will do: listen to them, remembering our paths may have been created the same, but how we walk down them, the pace we take to be happy, is completely our own.

Maybe the moments where meaning is forced to mean something are the ones we should be less concerned about, and we should focus on those fleeting moments which come to be known as the building blocks for the foundation of a relationship.

This fantasies reality is troubling while I’m bubbling along the surface. Dragging deep below me in depths unseen are the deaths of dreams, with my hopes and salvation clinging, climbing slowly and methodically, giving good reason to begin drowning. I am sputtering to breathe, ultimately collapsing, never forgetting the ending comes close without hostility, a sneaking suspicion I’ve never truly lived. What does it take to know all I do is not a precursor for being dead?

Mark my words with grief because I am consistent in doubting things. Not for the worse, not always, but there is uncertainty even in the surest of decisions. I do not take things lightly, considering their weight to be enormous, so at the end of all resolutions I can smile happy. Better yet, I can die knowing bliss was within grasp, at times wrapped tight within my fist.

We have romance nailed. Passion comes to us without problem. Sex bends to our whims, letting hands and lips and hands and lips become the beginning to the list we internally create to cross off from the top, knowing those moments are repeated without end…hands and lips and hands and lips felt across the skin, slid up and under and over and through and through and through to the center of us both clasped together, locked together, effortless, neither of us fading, no one faking, no one flinching…We have romance wrapped around our finger. We bend and passion pushes back to keep us steady because there is no breaking, there is no reason to be broken, there is nothing to take apart, there’s no reason for a mess…

I resent the ending to perfect beginnings.

Dec 7

My love,


with murmurs of missing me

parting her lips easily.

My breath

unable to mimic hers


the silence of dreams

with sounds

meant strictly for me.

Dec 5

Lie to yourself while truth arrests my heart. I’m handcuffed to possibilities, cold steel across my wrists keeping me fettered to an abundance of the damned and despised, except I have an escape without using tricks. I need no key to help. I need nothing to know you’re there to bleed me to the end.

The chance was yours to take, to keep, to have and shape, but you botched the moment when my smile came out of hiding and now I have no reason to care about the spine you’re missing.

Backbone, lady, is what I’m saying: you have none. Your skin is not transparent but your methods are and all can see your worth, how insignificant it is, how minuscule, so small I’ll burn you as I look with a magnifying glass.

My world will be more significant without you in it. Take my word for it.