sockmonkey

do you remember, dear, that night, i wore the smashed cherry lipstick?

do you remember, the netty veil, that stepped, jauntily,
off the edge of my pillbox hat?

do you remember, sir, the little seam, that went, marching up,
the back of my long, slim leg, sewing me, into silk?

do you remember the scents i wore, for you, that night?
of tonquin, and, french vanilla beans?

do you remember the punk, and loud, leather and spike wearing music,
or the smoke?

do you remember, love, lifting me, by my waist, inside that little military jacket,
up, onto that sleazy barstool, and, kneeling, on one knee...
lifting up my ankle, and, placing my foot, there, upon your thigh?

do you remember, sex, looking up, into my eyes, and, mouthing words?

do you remember what you mouthed?

do you remember, abaddon, my eyebrow, singly, lifting,
or the focus, stripping, almost naked?

do you remember, the lead singer of the band, gruffling by,
pulling in his chin, and shaking his head, as if you didn't fit, there?

do you remember, prince of darkness, re~working, the buckle of my shoe?

do you remember, now, or then, dear, the drizzles of sugar,
that surely, would have covered your hands, had you left them there,
any longer...

do you remember our skin, melting?

I fell, today, into, some words.
Artfully, dancing, together, with eachother.
Pardoned, by a pen.
An illustration, of a life, in a quiet, afternoon museum.
Shards of light, cutting shadows,
where, I, alone...
Still hearing birds, and, mission bells,
but, muted, by the shock of shapes of language.

At first, I thought it was a mistake.

An electronic glitch,
that opened up, a doorway,
into other countries,
other worlds,
and, minds.

A writer's journal...
perhaps, that should be private,

A stranger's gift...
Or, maybe... I've known him, already...

But, who, un~knowing, wrapped me in cinnimon toast, and, butter...
Completely, chained, in coffee, having sex, with cream...

Wishing, that the words, were not on a brightly lit screen,
where, I remain, upright, clothed, not in thick brown, satin,
or in glossy water, sliding with calamity's Christmas gift.

Wishing, that the words, that I was reading,
were in some wine~stained, tattered notebook,
or, carefully laid, into cigar box,
with the smell of leaded pencil.

Truly, now, mesmerized, and,
off to fix a broken bicycle wheel,
in physical, but, tied, if only,
by a French or Cuban coloured string,
to words, written.

A story... Turkish Delight...
My addiction...
My prison...
My passion...
What~which causes me to fall,
into ir~repairable love, and endless, mindless lust...
Always.

Words. 

The bath just overflowed.

So, I'm the one,
who doesn't have another mate, yet,
after the last "tragic break~up".

I hadn't been looking for anything,
when I met him.
So, why look for anything, now?

Now, he's that guy,
who acts like I'm stalking him,
if I respond, in any way...
if the new girl is around.

For the most part,
I'm good.

But, you know,
there will come that time...

When I'll see him with her,
and, he'll "warn" her.
and, it will be awkward.

So, tonight...
all alone,
with the young, and, the beautiful performers,
who are my family, now, still, and, treat me like perfection, and, sugar.

They mention a mentor.
A now, famous, sort of, amazing man,
whom they admire, and, who is older, like me.

I say, that I once, had an un~bearable crush on him.
I don't say it all.
The length, or the depth, of it.
He's too much, in their eyes, for that.

The young, and, the beautiful,
who treat me like perfection, and, sugar...

LAUGH.

We know, one of them said.
And, he crushed, right back.
We heard many, wicked, and tasty things, about you.

Is it possible,
that I blushed?

Or, is it the heat,
from the wind?

And, with that,
I walk away, o.k.
with the psuedo stalker status, of the most present, here.

And, the left~over, un~tarnished crush,
of a man, well admired, by many.

My secret weapon, of heart.

And, solace of self.

When, I, next, see the man,
who was most recently, my lover,
with his new love...
I know, exactly, how he will shield her,
I know exactly, how his chin will jutt,
and, his eyes will pace.

But, I've been there.

And, I've been there, too.

There, is better.

There, becomes here,
becomes bigger...
becomes, now.

Yep.
I, too, will jutt my chin,
smile, secretly, and, perhaps,
even turn pink, in the edge of my cheek...

And, skip, looking to her, like a craaazy woman,
into tomorrow.