Another quiet evening spent on the couch. We lay facing opposite of each other.
Your watching one of your shows with attention. I lay here massaging your foot.
I take my time to feel out all the kinks and knots. Rolling my thumbs between joints.
Every now and then I see a wincing blink. You've never been massaged this much.
After making sure there were no more points of stress I take a moment.
I lean my head down and kiss the top of each toe; a small pucker at the end.
I remember you stubbed your pinky toe, again, that one gets two kisses.
I could feel you were looking at me as I was switching to your other foot in my lap.
Paused I look up to meet your gaze. You seem inquisitive. A brow cocked.
I return with a simple smile, and a raised brow myself waiting for you to speak.
Nothing is said. You point your chin, look down at my hands, and shake
Your foot up and down. 'Keep going.' was what you told me without telling me.
Looking back up I see a curled index finger placed between your teeth; thumb under your chin.
Could barely make out the ends of your lips picking up. I smile to myself over it.
A look back at me, this time, with something on your mind. I don't stop working.
"I think this should be a nightly ritual from now on. Just feels right." You concluded.
In that yellow dress
She wears the one
Just like mine
The flowers designed
Makes her eyes shine
So I sat behind
Because I know
And the people know
And he knows
That she wears that dress
Better than I ever did.
I am searching for you but you are ingrained in my blood
My heartbeat tells me your presence in me as my real part
In a thundering river from bolder to bolder like violent flood
You have taken me over from me my beloved my sweetheart
At times I do realize that we are one and the same to prosper
But the my heart tells me that something is missing to snatch
You are my eyes light through which I see without all is blur
I am running like a lunatic lover after you to take you to catch
Who will say I am sensible my love in this serious state of mine
You have become my habit my ritual my custom and tradition
In the desert of life under blazon sun I am so thirsty I need wine
I am in self prison in this spring season my love I need attention
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
I wish what happened to me had made me bleed.
I think a broken plate on the floor would convey a message more profound than my stupid mouth could ever hope to. I'd like to bite down on something thick like raw meat and if it's my own tongue then so be it. Even if I could keep my big clumsy mouth shut i'd still vomit or cut my wrists up all over the carpet for attention. Look at me! I'm not good at being ignored. Or i'm great at it.... I'm a phantom in the sense that I'll make you uncomfortable but no ones sure if i'm even there or what i'm still bothering them for. So if you're not going to see me for me, i'll pull a white sheet over my body and creep around your house in the dark. And if you're going to look my way with a guilty face then you might as well just keep your eyes shut. And if someday you remember who I am just know our meeting was out of dumb luck. And well...., fuck you for not seeing a good thing when you had it. Now haunting you is just another one of my bad habits.
Sanctimonious priests and their damn Biretta hats.
Tell me of me of gods praise and a world in its hard collapse.
Where were you when I needed you.
Breaking hearts I suppose.
Wilderness and forests breach out across the hills.
Sunshine and rainbows will bless our day begin.
But I'm not watching anymore.
There's no need to get preachy.
And I reek of desperation for another mans touch.
And there's none to hear me scream I've got a pretty good hunch.
Do you even seem to care?
It's not very nice over here.
Harbor buses ship Asian businessmen back over gentle seas.
The city is alive against the saintly laden breeze.
I reach out to the stars.
They turn away and blush.
And I'll be damned if I ever admit its not you its me.
And I'll keep up this facade, I'm over here and I'm free.
My body wanes past the flowers.
Their beauty turns to coal.