Monday, January 24, 2011

i'm not dumb, just wanna hold your hand.

Hot breath into the cold air. Coming out from underneath the headphones, a shimmering echo and a near swagger to say hello. An interlude for you.

Lacquered crimson nails and fingerless charcoal gloves. A skater with salt and pepper hair and faint lines slowly softening the face waits, board at foot. I want to take a face like that in my hands and feel yesterday. The face we have when we're not yet old and yet too old. In your arms, I am safe. This I know. Let me grip the crook of your arm as we walk under the streetlight. Pause to run fingers along a slightly stubbled cheek that later will be pressed against my own. Glowing in a damp heat that radiates only at touch.

Gripping a paper cup on coffee.

I catch myself with you when I'm alone.

A heart drawn onto the palm of my hand.

A flash of bare stomach.

When does doing the right thing turn into a compromise?

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