I WAS NEVER COOL....
in school...
i am a fool, ya hoo. what's up pussycat. the smooth kiss of a woman's soul flowing across my mind. i miss it. but i am picky yes. standards have i, tho i exist at the very bottom of the so-called "male ladder". no catch am i, no catch. yet we cannot all be superfly-G.Q./P.H.D/F.B.I. so controversively i spout how my life would be made complete if i could have a perfect mate. the other half of my soul is what i seek, and rest is impoosible until she is found.
settle..? HA! I should be grateful for any woman who doesn't run at the sight of me (perhaps that's a little dramatic). but i want the eve of clay figures, mashiara, the one i would live to die for. i'll name her lily.
a woman, pretty, the type of pretty that's almost beautiful but not quite. she's proud, a little cocky, but not anoyingly so. Funny, a great sense of humor, she thinks life is funny. because it is. "so you should laugh at it." she says. she's not afraid to die. she kisses me at the oddest times, and when she kisses me, it's not one of those tounge destroying, mouth lashings you read about in those novels where the guy is shirtless on the front. it's more like she's tasting me, feeling me out. she see's love as not being some jewel that should be hoarded jealously, and kept safe in dark corners. she says, "your in it when your in it. don't fight to make it happen, and don't cry when it slips away. you always knew it wasn't gonna stick around forever, that's how love works."
"I love you..." spills from her lips easily, and rolls off her tounge to hit me like the warm waves of the pacific lapping up onto a beach. the light in her eyes reminds me of meteors streaking across the night sky, parading themselves to the ever-watching stars as the red scarf she wears billows out behind her, and the horses, unicorns, and turtles bob up and down and dance there forever dance. and the merry go round keeps turning on and on, powered by three simple vibrations of muscles lodged in her throat. And we were, and that was, and what is, is. sing children till you can't sing, dance children till you can't dance. and be happy, for all is right with the world.
from "The Truth from a Xeroxed Tao"
i am a fool, ya hoo. what's up pussycat. the smooth kiss of a woman's soul flowing across my mind. i miss it. but i am picky yes. standards have i, tho i exist at the very bottom of the so-called "male ladder". no catch am i, no catch. yet we cannot all be superfly-G.Q./P.H.D/F.B.I. so controversively i spout how my life would be made complete if i could have a perfect mate. the other half of my soul is what i seek, and rest is impoosible until she is found.
settle..? HA! I should be grateful for any woman who doesn't run at the sight of me (perhaps that's a little dramatic). but i want the eve of clay figures, mashiara, the one i would live to die for. i'll name her lily.
a woman, pretty, the type of pretty that's almost beautiful but not quite. she's proud, a little cocky, but not anoyingly so. Funny, a great sense of humor, she thinks life is funny. because it is. "so you should laugh at it." she says. she's not afraid to die. she kisses me at the oddest times, and when she kisses me, it's not one of those tounge destroying, mouth lashings you read about in those novels where the guy is shirtless on the front. it's more like she's tasting me, feeling me out. she see's love as not being some jewel that should be hoarded jealously, and kept safe in dark corners. she says, "your in it when your in it. don't fight to make it happen, and don't cry when it slips away. you always knew it wasn't gonna stick around forever, that's how love works."
"I love you..." spills from her lips easily, and rolls off her tounge to hit me like the warm waves of the pacific lapping up onto a beach. the light in her eyes reminds me of meteors streaking across the night sky, parading themselves to the ever-watching stars as the red scarf she wears billows out behind her, and the horses, unicorns, and turtles bob up and down and dance there forever dance. and the merry go round keeps turning on and on, powered by three simple vibrations of muscles lodged in her throat. And we were, and that was, and what is, is. sing children till you can't sing, dance children till you can't dance. and be happy, for all is right with the world.
from "The Truth from a Xeroxed Tao"