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By darwin Date: 2005 Oct 03 Comment on this Work [[2005.10.03.13.59.20732]] |
| some days it moves too slow. the light doesn't travel fast enough. it doesn't reach the flowers i have in the hall, and they whither. i wanted his light today, and his lips. i wanted him to press himself into me this morning as i lay there. i wanted him to slip into me and i feel that sudden rush of blood, as it pounds in my ears. but then he didn't want to come for lunch. it hurts. and it hurts in ways it shouldn't because he still lets me drape myself over him, as a blanket. a heavy human blanket. but i want that caress, and it's been better. as much it can be better after teetering on the brink, and saving yourself from a near fatal fall. we may have sprained our wrists, ankles, and alienated ourselves a bit. but i finally felt his hands on me in ways i dream about at night, those dreams with faces men sometimes women touching me. i feed him the pieces i don't take, and he'll nibble my fingers. we'll drink out of the same glass, even in front of company. it used to be because we wanted to conserve dishes, but it has become more or less our communion. but the days are still waiting, and the light grows weary. i can't help but ask myself, why are we still far from home. |