(no subject)
"It's a squid, it has hair."
"Nobody is perfect. I'm a nobody, I must be perfect."
"communism is for the sexually repressed."
"Racial jokes are only funny when we are laughing at the ignorance."
"I CAME FROM AN EGG!"
Good times at the writing conference.
I studied the face before me.
All contours visible, imperfections exposed.
So close, I could have reached out and touched the beauty
feel the soft hair clenched between longing fingers.
Taste those perfectly shaped lips pressed against mine.
Unfortunately, I had restraint.
The boy I had only known a weekend.
By a strange twist of fate,
I had permission to gaze into those blue-grey eyes.
Like a shining star, he was so close, yet so unattainable,
just out of reach.
I could have. I should have.
whisper the words.
Let's be lovers.
I was told this weekend would only be a memory.
Like a one-night stand
there is no morning after.
As I watch the boy walk away
silhouetted by the warm summer sun.
I take a deep breath and cast my last glance.
I cling to the memories
-all I have.
like sand filtering through loosely clasped fingers
struggle desperately to hold on.
Eventually I'll have to let go.
There is no morning after.
"Nobody is perfect. I'm a nobody, I must be perfect."
"communism is for the sexually repressed."
"Racial jokes are only funny when we are laughing at the ignorance."
"I CAME FROM AN EGG!"
Good times at the writing conference.
I studied the face before me.
All contours visible, imperfections exposed.
So close, I could have reached out and touched the beauty
feel the soft hair clenched between longing fingers.
Taste those perfectly shaped lips pressed against mine.
Unfortunately, I had restraint.
The boy I had only known a weekend.
By a strange twist of fate,
I had permission to gaze into those blue-grey eyes.
Like a shining star, he was so close, yet so unattainable,
just out of reach.
I could have. I should have.
whisper the words.
Let's be lovers.
I was told this weekend would only be a memory.
Like a one-night stand
there is no morning after.
As I watch the boy walk away
silhouetted by the warm summer sun.
I take a deep breath and cast my last glance.
I cling to the memories
-all I have.
like sand filtering through loosely clasped fingers
struggle desperately to hold on.
Eventually I'll have to let go.
There is no morning after.