| a clue (a. clugh): that which gives a hint in the solution of a mystery. |
[13 Oct 2009|02:13am] |
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what the hell? your name stays true to you.
if you weren't real I would make you up
because that would make sense.
you know my life in sketches and I know your history in fragments.
I'm doing everything wrong, everything you're not supposed to do, with you.
all I want is to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you.
I found out tonight that talking can only give me away. I want to speak in poetries that you will understand.
but what can I say?
There will be plenty of time later to leave things unsaid.
two years ago you kissed me on the mouth; I felt your lips on mine for months afterward.
Somewhere, there's a universe with your name on it, spelled out in consecutive constellations.
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| your room temperature touch |
[13 Oct 2009|02:37am] |
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The kind of affection I confer on the people with whom I am...shall we say...involved is something I consider a privilege, and rightly so, I think. Ideally, no one receives that kind of attention from me except for those with whom I share something unique, something greater than what your average sort of friendship provides: however not a relationship. A relationship is the union of the physical, the emotional, the intellectual, the spiritual, and moral. A sum of those facets of a bond that is somehow greater than its parts. But this is not an ideal world, by any measure, and neither am I the embodiment of my own ideals. The complexity level of things I feel for you could never be that astounding.
This doesnt have to be a relationship. It probably doesnt even have potential. All I know is that I want you. I want you once, or as many times as you'll have me. I want you half-clothed, in candlelight, outside, underwater, or on my floor. I want your lips most of all and one of these days I'll get you to kiss me as if you feel something for me. I'll flirt with you until I can have you. I'll make you want to be mine.. even if only one time. Even if in the darkness, where we can barely see. I want to make you feel good. I want to hear your sounds. The feeling will be immense and inescapably honest. I will have you.
You wouldn't know it, but I think you're achingly beautiful.
I torture myself with promises of nothing.
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