The Stoop

For all I know, we are in unison on the corner of some dusty street, miles and miles apart, sun setting and groping its last rays over our booze afflicted bodies. For everything I don't know, there is a sign somewhere pointing to the inevitable.

Without being able to see you, I can only imagine that we are together trapped in such a foreboding isolation. I can only dream that we participate in a breed of longing that only timeless lovers can summon.

I can only sit here, and with baited breath and intoxicated influence, hope to affect somehow the weave of fabric that brings back what im lastly kept from.

Its difficult to separate every emotion and every body. Its a complication to now attempt to draw from each experience as is own, as though untainted by experience and the million hormone saturated smootches. Its difficult to remember names and faces as much as just the feeling of being cared for. It comes to this eventually, when I can no longer struggle for the idealism of love and instead merge the senseless concepts thereof to make out of the clay of harsh lust a golem of satisfaction.

As though your hair spilled blonde or black on a pillow or against a wall. Whether your hands just barely fit in mine, or were pinned by the weight of my hips to yours. Like your eyes reflected so much as an ocean, or beamed like polished tiger eye, or even cut frantically out of emerald brilliance.

All experience as one lusty experiment, one haughty last revisit to sexy land. Each plummet into rapture as ravishing as the first, each beat and rhyme drummed out by crotches in perfect rhythm structure.

I can barely recall the details of a single body as I remember the sum of all.

It could still be you I see in distant whirls of the plains dust. It could be your car or your face or your voice, all found in some inconspicuously public location.

It still will all disappear under the weight of the earth, yet only to me bears a force of meaning. Only to me will your voice hold that polished ring, so don't let the romancers fool you. Do you think you will be as beautiful to anyone else, after having wasted so much on me?

So much decided as we sat on that stoop together, in my imagination anyhow, some two thousand miles apart. So much I lost to time, that I still let slip away to the laziness of being sad.

Yet there is a sadness to knowing that I cant be complete, or that happiness is only found in myself, because I fear that I have given that gift away at some somber gathering, at a party you organized so long ago. You got all my beloved people together, made my favorite party snacks and then spiked the punch with...

I have still forgotten how to take that one step forward, and that's the moral of our love.