Reborn
I have not felt like this before.
Or at least, I cannot remember the last time I felt this way.
My tour of Florida has left me at the holds of another. I've tried so hard to push Omar out of my heart, that by golly I finally did it.
I feel like Newton, when the apple hit his head; everything is falling into place.
I am always too complacent with my heart, consistently yearning for the unattainable. It is almost sadistic, the pain I put myself through. As if I deserve to be ignored, and left on the back burner. Liza put it so plain, I stopped giving a fuck, and the sperm came flocking.
Then my last trip to Orlando...the sun is brighter, the flowers smell again, and every heated emotion of touch has been renewed.
Pearson. Where have you been?
I surfed with you many times, skated at Kona, made your acquaintance drunk in Orlando when we frequented the same parties...same old Jacksonville shit. Completely blinded by my hormones and moans for another.
So different now, you really are. I never gave people the room to grow in my heart. As much as I am told not to judge, it's a subconscious process sometimes.
Now with the words flowing with contiguous refuge in my mind, our language has molded into a new being. I can still smell him, and our physical encounter was entirely innocent, touching and kissing only the parts where the rays can pass without care. Being held and listened to, something I had taken for granted with the awkward searching through those I have loved with unrequited passion. The simple pleasure of waking up to a beautiful, warm body who wants to be as close as possible. One that cannot wish any place other than your mouth placed to eloquently close, whispering the dreams of open waters with fresh salt to grasp hold the breaths slowly escaping between the gasps of pure inquisition.
Why punish me so late? Why bring the goods to the altar before the inevitable war? The offering that must be sacrificed for my future. The one thing I could care about besides my close girl friends, my family, my best guy friends. I want him more than anything, more than I could possibly hold with my hopeful hands.
And my God. My God, with this loose grip, he wants me back. Temptation, he wants me back. My reality is going down in flames with our perfectly placed conversation, finishing the stranger's sentence, and all I want. All I need is his rhythm with mine, beating so close. So wonderfully new, my muse has returned, related and meeting my heart for the first and last time.
God forgive me.
Or at least, I cannot remember the last time I felt this way.
My tour of Florida has left me at the holds of another. I've tried so hard to push Omar out of my heart, that by golly I finally did it.
I feel like Newton, when the apple hit his head; everything is falling into place.
I am always too complacent with my heart, consistently yearning for the unattainable. It is almost sadistic, the pain I put myself through. As if I deserve to be ignored, and left on the back burner. Liza put it so plain, I stopped giving a fuck, and the sperm came flocking.
Then my last trip to Orlando...the sun is brighter, the flowers smell again, and every heated emotion of touch has been renewed.
Pearson. Where have you been?
I surfed with you many times, skated at Kona, made your acquaintance drunk in Orlando when we frequented the same parties...same old Jacksonville shit. Completely blinded by my hormones and moans for another.
So different now, you really are. I never gave people the room to grow in my heart. As much as I am told not to judge, it's a subconscious process sometimes.
Now with the words flowing with contiguous refuge in my mind, our language has molded into a new being. I can still smell him, and our physical encounter was entirely innocent, touching and kissing only the parts where the rays can pass without care. Being held and listened to, something I had taken for granted with the awkward searching through those I have loved with unrequited passion. The simple pleasure of waking up to a beautiful, warm body who wants to be as close as possible. One that cannot wish any place other than your mouth placed to eloquently close, whispering the dreams of open waters with fresh salt to grasp hold the breaths slowly escaping between the gasps of pure inquisition.
Why punish me so late? Why bring the goods to the altar before the inevitable war? The offering that must be sacrificed for my future. The one thing I could care about besides my close girl friends, my family, my best guy friends. I want him more than anything, more than I could possibly hold with my hopeful hands.
And my God. My God, with this loose grip, he wants me back. Temptation, he wants me back. My reality is going down in flames with our perfectly placed conversation, finishing the stranger's sentence, and all I want. All I need is his rhythm with mine, beating so close. So wonderfully new, my muse has returned, related and meeting my heart for the first and last time.
God forgive me.