Monday, September 27, 2010

rain falls in brooklyn.

A gray sky walk with painterly clouds, that Hefner track chugging through my ears, wet leather and splashing off sidewalks. The words written on my palm in arching, curving, smearing ink. Homeward bound, cup in hand, damp hair and warm face.

"So when can I see yous?" on the tip of our tongues. A pounding anticipation. It feels like it has been such a long time since I've been down. I imagine peering out dark windows, the outside a moonlit blur of motion, and everything is deep and silly and amazing.

I gently clutch at your arm just above the crook of your elbow as we walk. Years ago, we pulled in to hold one another, to hold each other up and met with a soft shroud of long hair and warm breath, giving the corner of our lips a sloppy kiss after a swift, but final turn of the face. Confusing disappointment with intimacy.

Smoking too much at night and drifting upwards, watching dumb shit and closing the distance with the absurdity of it all.

Would you think I was pretty no matter what?

The blue tint of the bedroom from the setting sun now fallen behind the horizon. Rumpled sheets. Scratch marks down your back. A signature to verify. Can I ask you to hurt me? Perhaps for all the impetuous, inconvenient pain I cause and apologies that seem to add up to nothing. At times, my head backs me into a corner and in pushing back, I push you away. And I'm so very sorry I cannot sort it out for you. For me. For now.

I expect you to be the strong one. Maybe that's not fair.

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