Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Nor should it be choked by the words of colorful characters beckoned from the dreams of women longing for there white knight to come forth from the american night and bite into them with all the longing and desire that was lost to them in this eternal daytime slumber.
the artist that paints with the colors that spill forth, to birth life upon the canvass as they fill in the color of the sun; can you feel its orange and yellow rays warm your skin?
words that bound from the page to dive deep within the brain to color the rays of the sun and let you see it in all its glory,
do you feel now
the warmth as it bears down in all it's opressiveness upon your breast filling your lungs with the heat of day
can you hear it now
the buzzing buzz of the cicada bugs that fill the tree tops.
can you see
periods in the wrong place if there at all and sentences choked by commas as to bring to life one long rolling thought that carries you away in the heat of the day.
NOW do you feel
the release of the line that rips through the pages in one long non-capitalized sentence to paint to life all the colors of the day.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The first time i saw Jason was during his freshman year . His thin hipped tall figure loomed above me though I was two years his senior and while it was not the coolest of things to do; date the freshman, there was no denying the pull his deep set blue eyes had on me. the way they would smile with his face pushed up into there own grins by his high cheekbones.after the phone calls and pointless discussions with both he and his family our lives did not simply or cleanly part ways, that summer was spent busily manipulating friends, forming alliances ... who would stand at his side or mine ... several late night phone calls of me hoping to get from him more than he was capable of giving; not much more than a good lay.
"What do you want, why did you call me here in the middle of the night." the disdain for me was so thick in his voice and yet there we stood in the moonlight of Grams backyard. His anger so deep...why would he come, walk the 3 miles from the other side of town at 1am ...why else...
"I am the best fuck you will ever have, you don't need to admit it because I can feel it when you touch me, and though you hate me you want me so badly you can taste it welling up in your mouth like the acid from your stomach." why else would he come, because through all that bitterness his cock still rules his head, he is 15 after all.
"I hate you" and as the words leave his lips in a hiss he presses his full mouth to mine with all the furry, and lust of a man two times his age. What he is feeling now makes him hate himself, makes him hate me more.
Our entire relationship was built on desire and the unspoken chemistry that was so thick when we were together. Our bodies fit together so completely that with every thrust he brought me near orgasm and the moans that to often filled his adolescent room could be heard throughout the emptiness of his dysfunctional home. Was it complete naivety or just a secret longing that I would get pregnant ... something that would fill up the void that had grown in me since childhood.
this would not be the last time he would come to me when i call, never embracing me, but he never turns me away. desperate for him, his touch, his love, i will take what i can get.