[standing beside the car...their conversation comes to a close]
“bye, before i decide not to leave.”
“but, baby, I didn’t DO anything.”
[she turns and walks away feeling the headlights and his eyes at her back]
… continue reading this entry.
I sent out a mass text message asking people for their definition of the word “sprung”. I rather liked the responses I received, so I shall post them here for you all to see.
… continue reading this entry.
[he's beside me--looking at me and rubbing my stomach. I'm thinking in my mind, "i'd be a cute pregnant woman..."]
[as if he knows what I'm thinking: he smiles, shakes his head and stops rubbing.]
“What’s wrong babe? Why’d you stop and why the smile?”
[he rolls over, kisses my stomach & looks up at me]
this is what he said to me last night: “I’ve been looking for my last girlfriend since the first one.” Pivotal line, if you know the circumstances…..
so, my PaPaw passed this morning around 5 a.m. *shrugs* I’m not upset. Just a lil sad, but I’m alright. That’s about all.
he…hugged me.
cheeked me then
walked away from
the pending kiss
that was sure to follow.
flew across the threshold of my door
into the safe zone on the other side of the screen as if
playing tag with my heart.
and then…we talked sommore.
me half dressed…or half naked
i suppose, in my red geisha conversing
as if i’d just been walked home
after a first date.
“ok, then. bye.” i heard
and then he strolled away like a
happy kid with a snowcone from the candy lady.
but didn’t make it far. i
noticed these slowing steps & immediately
asked “what’s wrong?”
only to be bumrushed as an apparent
afterthought with a trifecta
on my cheeks & forehead. my heart is still skipping.
thankful that i prayed
the right prayer of strength–
while my eyes were
half-glazed & half-open–
insurance that his lips wouldn’t
leave me trembling
as from aftershock
…again
2007.07.04
It’s weird. normally I’ll wake
up quickly & write a piece
but now I fall asleep with
my pen still writing.
and now that my eyes are back
open…i’m semi-lucid
my subconsciousness is still
spazzing & my pen hand decided
to pick up where it left off.
southpaw turned on the phone &
the first text i got this morning
was advice from you…
“do that…” it says. “i don’t need you overdosing”
& although semi-lucid is saying “huunnh?”
sub-conch says “ah shyt”. my last offer to you
was of back-rubs & quiet places cause you looked tired
surrounded by a solid disclaimer: “imma leave you
alone cause you don’t seem like you feel like being bothered…”
an earlier report [or maybe i should say "slip-up"]
twittered in your ear that you are my green. and
i don’t smoke. don’t get blowed & can’t get drunk.
but i can flip that switch. i can leave you alone
for more than 1 dusk to dawn; more than 25 hrs a day
8 days a week
cause as scary and unbelievable as
this may seem:
i’m not trying to make you my man.
alas, the Most High is subjecting you to the damnation
& cruelty of becoming my muse.
it’s like my soul is a phucking succubus. the more i’m around you, the bytch tries to suck you dry. and i try to push her back in time…but, to no avail. you prob think i’m fawning over you…but you don’t hear her scream like a sober DT stricken alcoholic
when i bleed her dry.
like now. because my pen never stops after my
soul has given you a blow job.
2007.07.01 @12:05
