These seemingly insignificant exchanges
give me great pleasure.
Your fingers exquisitely
graze the line of my cheek.
Insulating me with a deeper bliss.
A stormless torrent.
You whisper to me in my sleep.
I can’t appreciate your words
In my somnolent capacity
But I know
your honeyed breath
Is a thoughtful resident
Of a soul translucent,
and unadorned.
I sigh obscurely into the room,
Through the depth of languor
You influence me.
You induce me into a capacity
that now holds much more
than my own rhapsody.
Through your transparency
I am born into the proficiency
of devotion.

This used to clense me,
washed the pollution poisoning
me from the root.
The loyalty that once
defended me,
faded into obscurity,
and all that's here with me
is your apathy,
and it shrouds me.

I breathe heavily,
I'm listeless and you're changing me
into some one
I have never been,
some one who can never win
against your exhaustive
list of what "should have" been.

He’s merely a man,
And I,
not as perceptive as I should have been,
sat him on the superlative pedestal that is
“Different”.
Unequal to other men.
Traversing the standard lies, lines…
design.
Dominating the competition with presence,
intelligence, kindness.
The blindness…
to the obvious,
I was
oblivious to the simplicity,
that existed within our synchronicity.
The bliss that is his undecorated texture,
Relieves the unrelenting pretense that he’s something
That he’s not.

When you released those pages,
When you took the compulsion and
Made it’s grim realization
your realization.
Thus, insufficiently my own.
You opened that book,
You entered that tome.
Every word left undefined,
As you read between the lines…
Making the things that were there
Unfurnished, and intertwined.
The way you betrayed,
Not excusable by blame.
Not forgivable by shame.

We are...
Only comfortable as strangers
frozen in our circumstance.
Hesitation is negligible in conversation.
Body language liberal,
almost thoughtful.
Sitting next to you I feel no pressure to be clever.
I feel no obligation to stimulate you.
You have an internal drive
I must feel from the space around you.
Responsive to one another,
respectful,
withholding our favor for each other.
Satisfied to occupy ourselves,
with ourselves,
We're speaking aloud
yet we say little.
Evasive.
We thrive expectant
with the fascination that sustains our
games.
Isnt it more provoking
when we say nothing?

Tapping my fingers on my leg,
I'm waiting.
What I'm waiting for is some relevence.
Some brand of sense I can clutch in these events.
These shifts, when they transpire...
Inside I become unhinged, I revolve,
wondering how I'm involved.
Yet instead...
of asking and receiveing,
understanding, not deceiving
controling this, establishing, reasoning...
My voice gets stuck somewhere between,
"What's going on?" and...
"What does this mean?"
I force it out, and when I speak
my toungue is twisted, awkward.
My words apprenticed to their own bizarre irrelevence.
Floundering in unfinished sentences.
The nexus,
where is it?
Or is it?
I'm impatient, and our compliment is so
disjointed in it's incident,
it's so unavoidable
in it's coincidence.
Tapping my fingers,
I'm sick with this.
I'm sick of my compulsion with the reception
of the temptation,
for regression.
Tapping away...
I still think I'll wait...
just a little longer.
Yeah... I'm gonna hesitate.
My inate listelessness with situations such as this,
my current fixation,
even in it's brevity...
is something that galvanizes,
and subsequently...
pleases me.

Here I stand,
and
I know you see me.
You see me
and see through me,
trying
denying me the right to be...
but
the old supremacy no longer exists.
and
no matter how much I insist,
and resist,
here comes that list.
What have I done now?
Please just calm down.
Do you expect this to keep me around?
I'm gone by now,
back to being sure.
Still the same.
I'm something you just cant change,
or rearrange.
So deranged...
they way we behaved.
It's just too late.
You've lost your hold,
there's the break,
here's my escape.

One kiss.
Once.
One moment to taste the flavor
of your lips.
The same lips that speak quietly,
still echoing resoundingly,
knowing itimately
they'll never be
that close to me.
And...
I can imagine the scent of your breath,
on contact I could be swept
into depreciation,
by the sweetening delusory of realism.
Strings.
Though no longer devoted to things
my own lips can't competently explain,
I dont beleive it's the same, both ways.
The harm...
in a kiss?
Once amiss, always dismissed
yet never forgotten.
Not often,
do I come across an urgency
embedded,
yet shrouded in
deficiency...
Hoping that eventualy.
Just once.
That kiss?

Can we please, acknowledge
this disease.
Can we take a brief reprise of subtleties.
Polite has no place in this contention.
Stop pretending we're not the antagonists
of our own invention.
Look at me.
Tell me.
Complete occupation in this situation
is a necessity.
I'm exhausted from the race, of this chase
just to find you a maze of
apathy and daze.
Your complacency is not a phase.
Give me a break.

I could feel you.
Never a fool I could see through you
And I always knew.
I’ve always been into you.
Like I've felt before,
I can’t be sure
Of your
Sincerity.
Because, sometimes, dear…
Your wordplay,
Your urbane way,
The way you can talk to a stranger
The stranger the better,
And make her wet with only the words
Each letter…
That easily exhales from you.
The unalloyed, ignorance of your sensuality.
Then again, immobilized deep in me…
More than the rapacity for what ever it is
You have that drives me crazy.
I feel you.
I know you like you know me.
You know you know me.
Now you’ve told me.
Regardless of sobriety.
I’m not sure I’m habituated to the sincerity.
The unavailability is what excites me.
The tempest invites me.
The flesh to flesh,
Breathe to breath…
I want that to be.

Insomnia compels me to write these lines in the middle of the night,
no concept of time.
In the morning...when the sunshine burns my eyes
it quickly ties the days chains to my hide.
What is there to do but return into submission
a woman with several missions,
none of which have sleep in sight.
Tired doesnt begin to explain it,
the work we do everyday..
not even a name for it,
and it's draining.
It's making something out of nothing,
running, running, running.
Our head always spinning,
dreaming up all the things we'd have if we had wings.
We're harnessed to things,
still biting our reins, we all know
one day
we'll be free.
To be at peace.
Free to finally sleep.

Right now,
Tonite.
One last cigarette,
One last pipe.
Before I allow the mastery
Of sleep,
Until I dream, a bizarre reverie.
In this recess I am caught.
My eyes narrow, askance.
Thoughts of living consciously.
Living by chance.
The smoke corresponds
With the cloud of nonsense,
Converging inside of me.
Emerging from me in their own
Disconcerted ways.
Enervated.
Eyes dilated.
Right now.
Tonite.
I may have had to much.
Of this smoke, of this pipe,
Of this type of approach.
Hunting for the incubus
Or the invention,
In the entanglement of sleep,

Pieces.
Pieces falling, falling,
precipitating.
Creating more and more,
pieces.
Pieces of me,
and of you.
Overcome at how easily I’m shaken.
How immersed you are inside me.
It blinds me.
When it finds me,
I’m not better,
I’m not better than you.
I am no bigger than you.
Subterfuge.
Imbedded insecurities so deelply
I want to inflict you,
with my own dreams.
You would not let me in on your secret,
As if you were sterling at ever keeping it,
now look what I am up against.
Fantasy.
History.
Coversations you’ve had in monologue.
Images.
Literature.
Not proportionate to a human.
Warm, permissive flesh.
Blood.
Every undefined contention chips
Pieces.
Pieces precipitating.
As they fall…
chipping away at our convention.

If it captures me,
This rhapsody, this fraility,
Of our parallel.
Then forgive me for my sentiment,
The precognition that ivented it,
Or how I may have presented it,
As this entanglement swims in my mind.
I search to find some sign of...
Resign.
A decline in the ascendance of this ride.
If I can not solicit your predilection
If I cant have your for my relevance,
My uncompromising infatuation.
If I cant have you forever…
It will stop never…
Interminably captured in our perplexity.

It's devestation for retributions sake.
The irascible stares.
Words that gouge,
assaling, blackening my regard.
Deep within the lust
the infatuation
that we habitually feed,
we find that here,
is where we have to be.
Together we have to be
contemptuous, perverted,
poisonous.
Together gorged with resentment
we hang on.
Tethered to the current we generate.
The shameless, sadistic rapture
that captures
and turns us into monsters.
Adversaries in love,
necessary,
when push comes to shove.
The punishment becomes
something more than it seems.
Something romantic,
yet invariably darkening.
Something we need
to fill the void left by our
preceding greed.
still we are paying
still we are playing games like these.

I have lived just long enough,
to realize the levity of this.
The severity of it.
A calamaty that insists on pursuing
an evil twist on the
intensity of strife.
All the enchanting omnicent visions,
arent they a bit reminicent
of toxic radation, an incontinent
sutbborn nation whose power is
consistantly on vacation.
How long will we continue being patient?
I want your God out of public schools,
Rulers to follow their own rules.
I want to stop being a tool
used in a civilizations untimely demise.