Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I don't love you,
goodnight.
hands-down
She was the first love
I have ever had

and Her face
still comes to me
in my dreams.
The dawn broke quietly through the last of the night,
and he rose with the sun.
As the morning light shown red and orange on the ceiling
he opened his eyes to the day's first flame.

Scott stirred, feeling the last of his dreams leave him to wake,
and felt a subtle yet prominent throb in the back of his head.
He felt the shape of her body curled into a ball beside him,
and briefly basked in the cumulative warmth they generated.
Turning away from her with a yawn he reached for the bottle
on the end table beside him, fumbling in the dwindling darkness.
The brandy was warm but still undeniably brandy as he brought it
to his lips and bit himself off a good swallow, grimacing.
He stood then, and strode to the window. The orange glow
from the rising sun contracted his irises and expanded his pores.

He felt whole. He was real here. He knew she was real too,
and that knowledge left him deeply satisfied as he turned to
explore her sleeping body with his eyes.


She heard him wake and take a gulp of that foul liquor he drank
twenty-four hours a day, recalling memories of his breath on her
from the night before. It wasn't that she was angry at his appetite
for *****, just sometimes it frightened her. She soulfully believed
he had a brilliant mind and just wished he would use it someway
other than a sponge for liquor. It was pity, she felt bad for him, and
a part of her thought that he knew it, and he fed off of that pity.
With this thought she turned and opened her eyes to the sunshine
pouring through the bay window at the foot of the bed, and saw his silhouette turn and meet her gaze at the same instant. For a moment
they just looked, pondering each other's doubts and certainties in a
way that made everything else in the room seem to fade out of existence.

He was surprised to see her looking at him in the earliest hours of
the day, she tended to enjoy sleeping in so he always considered
these moments of waking his own. Standing before the window,
and the rising sun shining through it, his shadow was cast perfectly
across her body if he were on top of her. At that thought a quiet
stirring of heat and primal instinct passed over his body and mind
and he smiled at her laying in his shadow, letting his eyes roll easily
over the hills and valleys of her naked body, further fanning the flame
in his *****. She smiled back at him and sighed, feeling the heat herself.

She saw him step forward and out of the light, and was briefly blinded
as his shadow moved from between the sun and her still sleep-ridden
eyes. Wincing and shielding her face from the sun with her hand, she
closed her eyes to the light and before she could open them again she felt his touch on her neck and on her outstretched hand as he brought
her face up to meet his. Lips full of static electricity touched her own
with a shock and she jolted, fully awake, and opened her eyes in surprise. When she saw the same expression mirrored on his face they
both laughed heartily into the long silence of the morning, breathing deeply in giant, hitching, breaths. Sighing and regaining his composure
he lay back down beside her and felt her curl up against him, almost
automatically at this point.

He played with her hair and she touched
his chest, feeling his heartbeat in rhythm with hers.

Comfort, she thought.
Comfort can be so dangerous.
Comfort is a double edged sword.

Brandy, he thought.
Brandy can be so delicious.
Brandy... I need to buy more.
a line
in a circle
in a triangle
on her skin

and the kind of pink
that makes me want to sin
I'm homesick for my own world,
spinning through these rings.
I'm just tired of being whirled,
and I long for gravity.

It's funny how these stars
are so ugly up close,
when viewed from afar
they looked so beautiful.

Just like a lot of things.

Like Saturn's rings.
Like my neighbor's lawn.
Like my neighbor's wife.
Like memories.
Like faded love.
Like idealism.
Like my father.
Like family in general.
Like myself in the mirror on your bedroom ceiling.
Like you.
Like critters and guitars.
Like interstellar coffee.
Like sad little love poems.
Like hopeless romanticism.
Like me.
"I'm like, torn...

...between wanting to know who you really are,
and being terrified of it."
like, uhhh likeeee like totally like um yeah like uhhhmmm
like like like, totally Mel
Short, yet but lovely,
she stood at the height of my chin.
And for her I would
cast my soul into hell and into sin
over and over and over again.

Melanie isn't real,
but her idea is.
and I hate the girl
but her essence
makes me grin.

In doubt and in faith
she persists,
someone to talk to,
someone to miss.
When I'm drunk.

When I'm alone.

When she swims
through the depths
of my skin,
to my bones.
She doesn't love me
when she tells me goodnight,
and I wouldn't have it
any other way.
You've got a painful grip
on reality, with those
sun-burnt palms from
waiting with arms wide open
for someone to come back to you.

The sky unfolds before
your dry eyes
in layers and miles
of deceit and lies,
as the sun becomes the moon,
smiling borrowed light
down upon you.

Ridiculing your commitment.

Mocking your hallucinating mind
with illusions of grandeur,
and false relief,
in the face of the great grief
you hold so closely
to your heart.

I love you like this.

I love you when the curtains are drawn
and the light pours down around you
like an electrical hurricane.

I love you in the morning dawn
waiting for love to ground you,
while soaring through the pain.
Next page