Hit the Floor
Sunlight collides with the drapes and, rejected, sulks back outside. The sugar's overturned and the absinthe's gone, though the smell lingers in a hazy stupor. Feet curl beneath the benevolently provided blanket, and that which should rise merely stirs.
A mess of scattered limbs and combusted hair barely moves, but whizzes with a whirligig of neurotic fantasies and concerns. So many e-mails, so many calls, so many texts are left behind for that closet and the pointed finger jabbing ever closer to the nose. It's all irrelevant when shattered on the floor.
Mascara stains and bra straps strewn and the perfected foundation's all but gone. What remains hasn't survived unscathed this night--but nights, nights of necessary hugs and unaccustomed confessions of weakness, when embrace before merely was a prelude to other, more direct, pursuits. Perhaps to fill a void, perhaps asking to be battered down again and again, whether through disappointment or otherwise, the pursuit won't be fulfilled. Reason demands it so, anyway.
Sounds of the afternoon progression pound outside the door, and the buried sleeper wishes to remain undisturbed. Days are long, and a few more hours wouldn't leave anyone else lacking for company. Obligatory apologies, unjustified and undeserved though they be are still required, but eight hours is a gracious period. Days are long in any case, especially to the often sleepless.
A kick to the bed, and it's obvious that it's empty. Debates of overstaying hospitality rise, but are contented to lay low. It's not such an uncomfortable floor, and activity would bring back the waking day, and all its demands. Better to concern oneself with irrelevance--at least temporarily. Better to be irrelevant, if not already proven so.
Just once, I'd like to do something I want to do because I want to do it. Just once I'd like to get what I want because I wanted it. No acquiescence. No settling for the demands and obligations of another's imposition. No forced feelings threatened into penned apologies. Where's my apology?
But sympathetic words are as good as dumb to ears hammered, beaten into submission for two decades.
Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir.
A mess of scattered limbs and combusted hair barely moves, but whizzes with a whirligig of neurotic fantasies and concerns. So many e-mails, so many calls, so many texts are left behind for that closet and the pointed finger jabbing ever closer to the nose. It's all irrelevant when shattered on the floor.
Mascara stains and bra straps strewn and the perfected foundation's all but gone. What remains hasn't survived unscathed this night--but nights, nights of necessary hugs and unaccustomed confessions of weakness, when embrace before merely was a prelude to other, more direct, pursuits. Perhaps to fill a void, perhaps asking to be battered down again and again, whether through disappointment or otherwise, the pursuit won't be fulfilled. Reason demands it so, anyway.
Sounds of the afternoon progression pound outside the door, and the buried sleeper wishes to remain undisturbed. Days are long, and a few more hours wouldn't leave anyone else lacking for company. Obligatory apologies, unjustified and undeserved though they be are still required, but eight hours is a gracious period. Days are long in any case, especially to the often sleepless.
A kick to the bed, and it's obvious that it's empty. Debates of overstaying hospitality rise, but are contented to lay low. It's not such an uncomfortable floor, and activity would bring back the waking day, and all its demands. Better to concern oneself with irrelevance--at least temporarily. Better to be irrelevant, if not already proven so.
Just once, I'd like to do something I want to do because I want to do it. Just once I'd like to get what I want because I wanted it. No acquiescence. No settling for the demands and obligations of another's imposition. No forced feelings threatened into penned apologies. Where's my apology?
But sympathetic words are as good as dumb to ears hammered, beaten into submission for two decades.
Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir.