jupitercalling

Saturday, May 30, 2009



Bird

I lay in the darkness, blanket barely covering me,
face down, sprawled, sinking into the bed,
separating from myself,
spreading into the night,
the sounds of people, yelling, laughing, brakes and wheels

wondering what she is doing.
I think about you,
remembering when you looked into my eyes,
and how you placed your hand, your palm,
so softly, gently to my chest,
as if you wanted to touch my heart,
and you did.

And now I cant stop thinking about you, wondering,
will you think about me this night.
Will you wonder where I am,
will you miss me as I miss you.

You are like a bird to me, tall, thin, seemingly fragile,
perhaps to fly away at any moment,
like when I grabbed you on the dance floor and you
shook your head and danced away.
But you flew back to me later
and looked into my eyes.

But I am thick skinned, no...
I am thin skinned,
when you flew I...think I'm tough,
I think I play it cool, but I am tender inside,
but only if I care.

Not like that other one,
we played a game with each other.
I think she will never find love.
But you Bird, I care.
and the other couldnt hurt me.
Do you wonder as I do, what it would be like
when we lay together,
face to face, skin to skin,
in the dark where it is only us within the world.

Are you flaming with passion or are you gentle as a warm breeze
that flows over me as I breathe you in, all, deep,
and free you only when I exhale.
And I want to breathe you in, over and over,
until we fall asleep...entangled in the darkness,
having feasted in the fruits of the night
...
but you flew away.
and we will never know.

1 Comments:

Blogger scott abraham- lakes said...

At the peak corner of the parking lot, with my buddy, beers on the hood we were feeling damned irreverent. Over and over Sade is playing on the cassette player...Your Love is King, and I had eyes for the lady I'd be leaving behind, sad eyes--in which I wanted to stand up, like it was cavernous shadowy exits from distress. G-d if I could have told it then as I have ever seen it, she is the One as I have in my grasp now: love is inevitably all times, and all reunions as it exercises a continuum of rhythms, THE ONE DRop when all other distractions cease. Sade was Third world enough--West Indies, Rt? She was the muse of my posturing toward the lavender Summer, haunts* like my pedestrian life with I & Nature symbioses in these cultural icons. The blue slumber as the sun yielded to traffic & my concealment separating me from their driver's-goals, was mischief I'd manufacture in hot waves of ear dimensional auditory halucinations. If ever a narrative has had any of us make room (in mind) for bidden material goals, my feeling was nothing stepped toward what I knew to be my bubble of experience, so looking within this pale shelter makes imagination work as if the power of my concentration would cut the ties to inventions of the norm.

4:59 AM  

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