Romantic Poetics
Do you ever long to do all those terribly romantic and yet oddly strange things while with the one you love...and yet you are not with the one you love? To kiss their lips, their tears, their eyes, the small of their back. To ease their pain, to make them ache with laughter, or fall asleep in a chair together. to be the first thing they see when they wake, or call them before you go to sleep...romance and love. Two unquantifiable things that seem to make the world to those in it, and hell to those without. A passionate gift to those in the know, and a dreary languished world, a world void of meaning to the poor soul yet to be informed. The nervous energy to be around that person you love. The agony of being apart, or worse yet, being left or leaving. Dying a little each night, lying awake, listless and alone.
I've always wanted a woman who I could lavish attention upon...do all those things I've had in my mind to do. Fight and argue about something inconsequential and make up just as quick. Turn over in the night and feel warmth against my arm, and smile as I drift back. Have someone to call, or who can call me, when the days plan fall apart...just to help pick up a piece or two. Someone to quell the hunger in my skin; just a casual finger, lingering along their neck, traversing the musculature of their arm and leaving their body via the tip of their finger.
How I've longer to cook for hours only to have us both discover that, in fact, I can't...followed by the ringing of the doorbell by the Chinese delivery guy. Lo mein never tasted so sweet from the chopsticks of a loved one.
The taste of her skin, kissed from her mid-drift. I'd cry for weeks thinking of my love, or my loss. The bitter drought of jealousy, with a tinge of revenge. The feeling of the mind, racing and yearning to die, only to live again with the next heartbeat. The ashes of romance and poetry used to sow the next yield of the heart...hoping this bounty will taste just as sweet as the last, but not as quick to the heart as the first.
I've always wanted a woman who I could lavish attention upon...do all those things I've had in my mind to do. Fight and argue about something inconsequential and make up just as quick. Turn over in the night and feel warmth against my arm, and smile as I drift back. Have someone to call, or who can call me, when the days plan fall apart...just to help pick up a piece or two. Someone to quell the hunger in my skin; just a casual finger, lingering along their neck, traversing the musculature of their arm and leaving their body via the tip of their finger.
How I've longer to cook for hours only to have us both discover that, in fact, I can't...followed by the ringing of the doorbell by the Chinese delivery guy. Lo mein never tasted so sweet from the chopsticks of a loved one.
The taste of her skin, kissed from her mid-drift. I'd cry for weeks thinking of my love, or my loss. The bitter drought of jealousy, with a tinge of revenge. The feeling of the mind, racing and yearning to die, only to live again with the next heartbeat. The ashes of romance and poetry used to sow the next yield of the heart...hoping this bounty will taste just as sweet as the last, but not as quick to the heart as the first.