iWRITE

It is easy for anyone to look at this and see it as a weakness. Easy for any man to shoot me down with the words I had written for him. Although, I still believe enough to write, enough to express myself in a way I see fit. My words are transcending in the sense you still hear them before you lay to sleep. They are soft like wool, wrapping you for comfort when you are scared. I have spent years gathering every detail that you have offered me. I’ve written sentences upon essays that lead into stories, just to describe the intricate detailing of your face.

No man has gotten more affection and adornment from me then you: a man that does not even want nor knows it there. All the love I have sent your way sit dormant next to you, like a naval ship chained to a port awaiting its orders.

You are to me, love, be it a burden or a gift I am happy with either.

Realization: I can’t leave you because you’re the only person who gives me these thoughts and feelings. The feelings and thoughts being that of children and marriage. As scary as it all sounds to be grown up, I cannot help but think with you it will all be better, not easier, but better.

You give my thoughts the room to breathe: to flourish. 

The truth of it all is actually really foolish if you start to focus on it: we’re all drug dazed. That is who we are and who we have continued to choose to surround ourselves with. 

We are lost, all of us. The scariest part of it though isn’t that we’re are lost, but that we are all on the same path trying to lead. 

I want to get better so I can help lead my friends that surround me out of the darkness. I want to show them that there is more to life, more worth living for. First though, I have to convince myself. I’m half way there. 

It was the day he began to learn how not to love: the hardest day of his life.

I like the way we make love. 

Its real: raw.

I like that when I put my all in it you do too.

I love that when we make love its just that, making love; not fucking.

I want to hold on to you
like how a wave’s white wash
kisses the shore,
              again and again.
Sometimes,
it is already enough
that you live in me
only as bludgeons to my soul.
—deep vacant bruises
 
Because to keep you alive
is like treading water:
a survival instinct,
yet, one can only take so much…
 
                         so maybe, let me drown.

He lived for it though: for the aching of missing in his bones.

He lived for something stronger.

And he inhaled the worlds wonders only to exhale them.

2. My fingers slip in and out of your wetness.

3. My lips waiting, wanting to taste the sweet tang and smudge of your moans.

4. As I, with eyes closed, indulged in every tantric ache, slowly dip my passion into your desire’s ink.

5. My pen shall dip once, soaking in your damp glory, then dip again firmly, until it is satisfied and full for the night.

6. Ink, to write our misadventure:

7. The deliberate unison of two strangers out for orgasm and neon connections that shine. If not only through our skin, but so within the beaming smile absent from our lips, but blatant in the deepest corner of our lies.