As always,
read aloud
and enjoy.
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
I mean sure,
hands’ve been held, lips’ve been locked, heart beats counted,
armpits tickled, eyelashes licked,
backs rubbed, hips hugged
but
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
720 hours of smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers and mixtapes and tree climbing and
waiting for the other to finish showering before the night begins and your recite again
the smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers.
43,200 minutes since that night.
That night that night fell softer than
eyelids overflowing with sleep.
Finding no full moon to mask,
The thin cloud cover sat in the sky
like gasps passing lips slightly parted,
like abandoned similes left suspended midsentence.
That night his house was
cold as a corpse,
empty as an elephant skeleton,
But between the two of them
They managed to salvage some warmth.
That night they whispered three words to each other
through sheets of white linen and teeth.
Three words,
the culmination of all they’d shared thus far,
Three words
worth more than any that’d follow
In the one month
30 days
720 hours
43,200 minutes
2,592,000 seconds since the first time they had ***
Yes it’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
A full moon since they made love,
******
Poured the night’s libation into her drawing salty emotion from sincerity’s well giving back blood running blind turning brown against white cover down where three words were loosed from lips translating the ***** leaning into one learning from the other like lusters slipping in and out of fun like lovers finding oneself in the other.
But time can’t count all the ways things have changed.
And time can’t stand him standing out in the rain.
And he can’t remember which hit him harder,
her lips curving to form that big L word or
her hips arching to meet his.
And he could hardly discern pain from pleasure and confusion swam in their hands until paralysis overtook their power to put a stop to it and he finished before she could fish up even a single coo but that didn’t matter because he was in love and loved in return and all the sudden the Beatles are making a whole ******* lot of sense because
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched,
And he doesn’t give a ****
He’s just happy to be in love.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 9:59 PM UTC
As always,
read aloud
and enjoy.
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
I mean sure,
hands’ve been held, lips’ve been locked, heart beats counted,
armpits tickled, eyelashes licked,
backs rubbed, hips hugged
but
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
720 hours of smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers and mixtapes and tree climbing and
waiting for the other to finish showering before the night begins and your recite again
the smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers.
43,200 minutes since that night.
That night that night fell softer than
eyelids overflowing with sleep.
Finding no full moon to mask,
The thin cloud cover sat in the sky
like gasps passing lips slightly parted,
like abandoned similes left suspended midsentence.
That night his house was
cold as a corpse,
empty as an elephant skeleton,
But between the two of them
They managed to salvage some warmth.
That night they whispered three words to each other
through sheets of white linen and teeth.
Three words,
the culmination of all they’d shared thus far,
Three words
worth more than any that’d follow
In the one month
30 days
720 hours
43,200 minutes
2,592,000 seconds since the first time they had ***
Yes it’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
A full moon since they made love,
******
Poured the night’s libation into her drawing salty emotion from sincerity’s well giving back blood running blind turning brown against white cover down where three words were loosed from lips translating the ***** leaning into one learning from the other like lusters slipping in and out of fun like lovers finding oneself in the other.
But time can’t count all the ways things have changed.
And time can’t stand him standing out in the rain.
And he can’t remember which hit him harder,
her lips curving to form that big L word or
her hips arching to meet his.
And he could hardly discern pain from pleasure and confusion swam in their hands until paralysis overtook their power to put a stop to it and he finished before she could fish up even a single coo but that didn’t matter because he was in love and loved in return and all the sudden the Beatles are making a whole ******* lot of sense because
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched,
And he doesn’t give a ****
He’s just happy to be in love.