i'm still in love with you
so you can't see from the fog pressed against the windows of your bedroom--cant check the weather, justwant to know if its hot or cold out, eh? and now yeh don't even know where you are. you've never been in some volcano, though. you've never been in a world of white trees, white rocks, white houses, white grasses, whitewhitewhiteland; and a sky that's the purest black. And here is midnight?
It's past that hour now, though, and artificial light comes through again.
They cited Corinthians 35.15, or was it 15.35? And I'm no sinner, but ever if I were...
What was the last time she kissed him (and by she I mean me), oh wasn't it just last night? and if there were more than a dream... well, well. nothing but a dream, then, and waking to an empty bed (as always)--at least the blankets make it warmer. and meanwhile, meanwhile a bunk above, and oh, such confliction! such angst! such drama! but, even so, I may rather have him, than any boy--rather have his pretty skin and keen mind, and bare hips, rather than any. so he's not mine. he wont ever be, but id rather wait than fuck any old--
really. oh really, and if the press of a body ever felt so good. This is how I feel about new york: comfort. because solidity, and even if I didnt know him, his drunken, stumbling body leaned against mine, and his elbow found my shoulder, his hand at my back. hip to hip and I could feel the slight roundness of stomach. This is what a crowd does: once it is all there is, it is all I want. he was all I wanted, and so it was "oh, in one minute, I'll--" or "just after this next song." And wasnt it the perfect night for an anonymous grope. Oh, yeah, so they thought I might have been going crazy, but I'd have gone to Hoboken with him, I wouldve I wouldve and then taken him back here and told secrets, because strangers only know how to keep them. "We're getting closer!" he said, yes, "we're getting closer." To where? "To Hoboken." I've never been there. "oh, so fuck, come on then!" and I said, when we danced off the fairy: "good luck getting to New Jersey," because i've only ever seen that man off his face. I had not a sip of it myself, but maybe the seawater does that to me, maybe the feel of deep bass in my chest, maybe the insanity of dancing when they wont join you.
and so we took metronorth back into some small town that everyone will forget but me (and them), and I slept, I slept and awoke alone. Oh... fuck.
all i want is what I used to have--what I almost had once.
Sinner. You fucker, what happened to your spine? disappeared when you forgot to sign your letter? I'm no sinner. Embrace.
I never wanted none of him. I never wanted him. I mean, I never--I mean. Ebrace--the fuck of what? and you with your green pens and slanted writing? did you write it to her as well? Repent, sinners. And of course your scribbled-ass attempt will show me the light of God. I'm no sinner, and I've never pressed anyhting onto you. Onto anyone, darling. No body, no books, no fucking idealogy. Only mistruths--only ever have I pressed the insanity of mistruths. Cause I don't know a thing, but I know what can't be true.
What I want? To find a city, find a boy, find a bed to press our bodies to. And, yeah, what else would we need? Oh, a song or two, a pencil, words for him to read to me in a light voice, and lips that curve with one another.
fuck. fuck, and I should repent, recant. Redeam my reliogn for yours because--because? I know because I know, there's never no argueing with faith--do you understand what I mean now? no arguing with it, and quoting texts wont do a thing. I may not be serious with my own, but I know what I know, and that isn't it. YOU aren't it. Find your name, darling, find your name and write it everywhere you may. Its not his, its not the Churchs', you've your own. Dont we all--and too bad we've forgotten them--I've forgotten, did i ever even know it; of course not, of course not, remember I know nothing but what is not true? and I know that when they say, "this is how it goes" they have--they have no, no fucking way..
I wish it would be too foggy to walk tomorrow, to leave the house. so that when I do, i'll have some excuse not to find the roads.
It's past that hour now, though, and artificial light comes through again.
They cited Corinthians 35.15, or was it 15.35? And I'm no sinner, but ever if I were...
What was the last time she kissed him (and by she I mean me), oh wasn't it just last night? and if there were more than a dream... well, well. nothing but a dream, then, and waking to an empty bed (as always)--at least the blankets make it warmer. and meanwhile, meanwhile a bunk above, and oh, such confliction! such angst! such drama! but, even so, I may rather have him, than any boy--rather have his pretty skin and keen mind, and bare hips, rather than any. so he's not mine. he wont ever be, but id rather wait than fuck any old--
really. oh really, and if the press of a body ever felt so good. This is how I feel about new york: comfort. because solidity, and even if I didnt know him, his drunken, stumbling body leaned against mine, and his elbow found my shoulder, his hand at my back. hip to hip and I could feel the slight roundness of stomach. This is what a crowd does: once it is all there is, it is all I want. he was all I wanted, and so it was "oh, in one minute, I'll--" or "just after this next song." And wasnt it the perfect night for an anonymous grope. Oh, yeah, so they thought I might have been going crazy, but I'd have gone to Hoboken with him, I wouldve I wouldve and then taken him back here and told secrets, because strangers only know how to keep them. "We're getting closer!" he said, yes, "we're getting closer." To where? "To Hoboken." I've never been there. "oh, so fuck, come on then!" and I said, when we danced off the fairy: "good luck getting to New Jersey," because i've only ever seen that man off his face. I had not a sip of it myself, but maybe the seawater does that to me, maybe the feel of deep bass in my chest, maybe the insanity of dancing when they wont join you.
and so we took metronorth back into some small town that everyone will forget but me (and them), and I slept, I slept and awoke alone. Oh... fuck.
all i want is what I used to have--what I almost had once.
Sinner. You fucker, what happened to your spine? disappeared when you forgot to sign your letter? I'm no sinner. Embrace.
I never wanted none of him. I never wanted him. I mean, I never--I mean. Ebrace--the fuck of what? and you with your green pens and slanted writing? did you write it to her as well? Repent, sinners. And of course your scribbled-ass attempt will show me the light of God. I'm no sinner, and I've never pressed anyhting onto you. Onto anyone, darling. No body, no books, no fucking idealogy. Only mistruths--only ever have I pressed the insanity of mistruths. Cause I don't know a thing, but I know what can't be true.
What I want? To find a city, find a boy, find a bed to press our bodies to. And, yeah, what else would we need? Oh, a song or two, a pencil, words for him to read to me in a light voice, and lips that curve with one another.
fuck. fuck, and I should repent, recant. Redeam my reliogn for yours because--because? I know because I know, there's never no argueing with faith--do you understand what I mean now? no arguing with it, and quoting texts wont do a thing. I may not be serious with my own, but I know what I know, and that isn't it. YOU aren't it. Find your name, darling, find your name and write it everywhere you may. Its not his, its not the Churchs', you've your own. Dont we all--and too bad we've forgotten them--I've forgotten, did i ever even know it; of course not, of course not, remember I know nothing but what is not true? and I know that when they say, "this is how it goes" they have--they have no, no fucking way..
I wish it would be too foggy to walk tomorrow, to leave the house. so that when I do, i'll have some excuse not to find the roads.