Infatuation

I think — I think I give up. I resign, retire, deprecate my hope, for you infatuate me. The captivation has triggered a realization, unveiled a pattern: what I want to happen, never will, and I have never wanted the possible.

Infatuation is the love of my life, lifting me up to be dropped from a height perfectly calculated to hurt rather than kill me. And in the moment before I fall, I look up and see exactly where I want to be but my wings cannot take me there; my wings are painted on so that my passages to the top feel a little less artificial...

It is not over, but still, I think I should just give up. I have not yet reached the height of my fall from you but you should know I already brace myself. Sometimes I dream that this time I can fly high enough, high enough to look into your eyes and that your gaze will be as steadily locked as mine is; maybe you'll reach out a hand so that the expected plummet doesn't come?

But I dream when my eyes are closed. My eyes are open now and they look up at you, for you infatuate me. The captivation has triggered a realization, unveiled a pattern... and my muscles are tense in readiness for the descent. But each time I blink I dream that my eyes will open gazing into yours and I will have risen past infatuation, past impossible, past distance, and into time, together.

finally put it in words

I try to protect myself in the future,
so I can't live in the present.

you

Allow me to entice you,
tonight is just the beginning;
by the time it’s completed,
this will be more than befitting...
My melodic crooning,
wooing you into submission,
delicately implanting
my erotic intentions...
Close your eyes and listen,
let my notes hit your drums
as the euphonious hum
strums your cerebellum...
I’d love for your
consonants to cruelly caress
my various, vaccinating
and voracious vowels.
I’d love for my
acidic articulations to 
aggressively assault your accents,
and for our sinister syllables
to sensually stroke sounds — into sentences...

we tell each other everything,
muffled moans into pillows,
different kinds of confessions...
his lips not only kiss
and smear
and love
and bite
not only do
heated breaths of passion
burn past them,
hesitated sighs of lust
leak through them,
not only do they love
and save
and revive me
but his lips destroy me.
brutal honesty spills out
like bombs packed with glass.

Unwritten poems smolder in my bones;
lines the length of kite strings,
words the weight of worlds.

square 1

He peered
From the depths of his
Immaculate
Eyes
He spoke to me
Without voice
Without malice
Without vengeance
Without apology
Wild
Untamed
And the world slept
All but the two of us
We were transformed
We were
Redeemed
We were
Willing
Eager
Brilliant
Slobbering
Panting
Powerful
Anxious
Full of life
And lust
And wanting
And our lips met
And tears ran down our faces
And we shook
And we fought
And we ravaged
And our hands brushed
Against our cheeks
And we called
Each other’s name
And our wings protruded
And they were off
But we feel the eyes
Those vindictive eyes
Eyes of experience
And they pursue us
Through the space
Through the walls
Through the night
And we take flight
And we run
Deep into the recesses
Of our world
Of our making
With hope as our light
And only memory as our guide
And we will go to the furthest
Corner
Of our creation
And we will stop
If only for a moment
And I'll drink in his gaze
As he drinks from my lips
And we'll consume each other
It'll become a small death
And our fire will become ash
And it was only the feeling
Of being so near
Of being touched
Of being alone
Together
Loved
Cared for
Protected
By each other

The Glass Essay

"You remember too much,
My mother said to me recently.

Why hold on to all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?"