baby, i've been trying hard not to get in trouble.

but you don't understand when you don't have wanderlust that sews itself into your very bones. you don't love like i do, wild and free. you don't want to ride the edge. you want your 9-5 office job, the picket fence, a perfect wife and children. i'm not saying i don't love you but i can't love restrained and i can't love you perfect. i know i promised forever-- but haven't i told you my middle name was "i make promises i can't keep?". i guess that never came up.

i can't keep living vicariously through lonely jazz singers and voracious cult leaders. call me stupid, but i want to have that drink, i wanna smoke. i'm sorry i had you under the pretense that i was a good little girl. i'm not. i wanna dance until the soles in my shoes are bare and worn. i wanna go running in thunderstorms and play russian roulette with my untamable heart and go wherever i yearn. i look at birds with envy because i am a flightless soul. darling, you're a seed and sooner or later you're gonna want the roots that i can't give you. i need to breathe. that's all i want. my obsession with freedom might destroy me, but god, is there ever a better way to die?

i tell all the lovers i've ever had to let me lay me down on the open road, leave more than skid marks on highways and more than a twist in my bed sheets. i love minds just as much as i love bodies. my past affairs were like wind rushing past but i don't know if i've ever really slowed down because i am ******* reckless. i have no regrets.

i wanna let loose on city streets, shout in the rain, sin on parkway benches and get lost in a tangle of whatever the hell I want to drown in. so please, even though you don't understand half of this feral wild creature i am-- let me live like i'm crazy.

when my mother told me to watch out for things that go bump in the night i thought she was talking about monsters and priests, but lately, i've been thinking it's me.

with love,
a little wild thing

can try to capture beauty,
try to capture expression--
yet as an artist, never satisfied.

i want to do more than catch your likeness on paper
with pen or graphite, desire more than just a role as an avid watcher and portrayer.

i want to learn the hard planes of your body
the ways they could move in junction with mine,
hands with such strength and virility. there is an urge
to bring those fingers to my mouth, or a lone earlobe.

bite down. sharp inhale. that's music.

i want to know the shapes you make, the way a body looks glistened in hard work, trace the indentions in a spine, be familiar with its knobby structure, kindly measure the quiet strength of muscles, the contours of a figure that is a reflection of its environment.

feeling. quiet feeling.

i want to look and really look, study the proportions of smiles, the simplicity in wrinkles and the path of veins, gentle lines that nature already drew for me. especially observations of lines in your eyes. what is your gaze drawn to. don't tell me, show me.

let me understand a deep look. stare at me. let me stare at you.

i just want to draw on you--
human skin is my canvas,
eyes are inspiration,
raw souls are my
new medium,
and
passion is my paint brush.

can i sketch you, love?