(no subject)
The last time I held hands with someone was exactly 90 days ago.
She walked up to me out of nowhere,
told me she missed me,
that she wanted me in her life.
She apologized for never returning my calls.
While we talked our hands grasped for each other.
Right hands crossing our bodies
clasped as if we might start arm wrestling,
elbows floating in the mist under december street lights.
I pulled off my gloves to show her my still fresh scar
and to feel her skin
we held on tighter and tighter and tighter and stared.
There is an ocean in those eyes,
full of raging storms and unfathomable depths.
I'd already lost a navy attempting to chart those mysterious waters.
There was tiny lightning between our skin,
thunder awakening my soul
when she finished her cigarette
we added our other hands to the pyre
and continued to stare and mumble confessions of love and fear.
I was a drowning person coming up for air.
The sole survivor on a lonely desert island, who,
upon seeing ship on the horizon,
is torn between disbelief and ecstasy.
--
Today,
walking down the street
behind a couple
palm to palm,
fingers intertwined
I wonder if there's electricity tingling back and forth between them
or if their clasp has grown into one of comfort or control or indifference...
I stopped and look around my life,
the admit that I find comfort in the
confines of this lonely isle.
The truth is
that every time I abandon my shores and swim out
there is no ship.
Here on land I can breathe without struggle.
I can rest without fear of sinking.
I'm building a beautiful castle here.
When it's finished it's walls will withstand all of the storms of sea.
For the ocean cares not
it swallows all
and knows only mystery and depth.
She walked up to me out of nowhere,
told me she missed me,
that she wanted me in her life.
She apologized for never returning my calls.
While we talked our hands grasped for each other.
Right hands crossing our bodies
clasped as if we might start arm wrestling,
elbows floating in the mist under december street lights.
I pulled off my gloves to show her my still fresh scar
and to feel her skin
we held on tighter and tighter and tighter and stared.
There is an ocean in those eyes,
full of raging storms and unfathomable depths.
I'd already lost a navy attempting to chart those mysterious waters.
There was tiny lightning between our skin,
thunder awakening my soul
when she finished her cigarette
we added our other hands to the pyre
and continued to stare and mumble confessions of love and fear.
I was a drowning person coming up for air.
The sole survivor on a lonely desert island, who,
upon seeing ship on the horizon,
is torn between disbelief and ecstasy.
--
Today,
walking down the street
behind a couple
palm to palm,
fingers intertwined
I wonder if there's electricity tingling back and forth between them
or if their clasp has grown into one of comfort or control or indifference...
I stopped and look around my life,
the admit that I find comfort in the
confines of this lonely isle.
The truth is
that every time I abandon my shores and swim out
there is no ship.
Here on land I can breathe without struggle.
I can rest without fear of sinking.
I'm building a beautiful castle here.
When it's finished it's walls will withstand all of the storms of sea.
For the ocean cares not
it swallows all
and knows only mystery and depth.