Monthly Archive for September, 2010

my oncetime lover.
my breath that promised lightyears.
my promise that lasted a beardsecond.

I want you.

I fear that all we have is our sex. I see it solving, resolving, creating all our problems. only because I want more, I want to see you, hold you, understand you… but I don’t.
I don’t know you.

I don’t even know what I’m wanting, an apparition. A vapor. a Wish.

We are built on a kiss and die with our sex.
sigh.

Do you hold nothing else? No further power, no further secret, no more completeness?
I’m afraid because when you’re physically gone, you’re gone. There are no words, no ideas, nothing beyond lust and desire to touch again. To pleasure with your sweet kisses and flirting touches.

And it is powerful, not meaningful.

The emptiness of this space creates a hollow desire. An ether of want, a lightyear journey to more space instead of a planet destination.

And you are welcome to my space, but there is no longer a promise of a destination.

I’m happy to learn about how to touch and kiss and fuck you.
But what I truly desire is to see and hear and taste and smell and touch you.
I desire a completeness.

And when you leave a vacuum of space my gravity attracts what it needs to fill it.

Walked Biked Created Observed Communed Pondered Written Witnessed Documented Struggled Hid Provided Cooked Consumed Judged Ignored Feared Speculated Tempted Submitted Controlled Questioned Shared Received Raptured Connected Prophesied Accomplished Succeeded Persevered Loved Believed Experienced

Now.

I have a talent.
I know it, I hear it from you.
You tell me.
I look.
I see it, but from a great distance.

I do not trust my talent. I am afraid of its power to define me.
To consume me.

I understand my fraud. My talent is not inside me. It is borrowed.

Broken.

Fragmented among a million references.
I am more than even these million parts.
The whole of me encompasses this talent,
it eats it and this talent is swallowed up into a sea,

infinitely larger.

But you see it as me.
You have tied a string to this talent.
You bookmark me. You pull on this definition.
You choke me. Paused in time.
You watch me turn blue.

I am desperate. But I do nothing.

Is it my place?
Does it matter?

This talent is a burden.
I do nothing,
special.
This is easy.

I just cut the string.

Better that I confuse you than die.
Better that I lose this talent than be so small.

Now I’m alone. This is better.

I am. Better.

Getting better.