Closing the Distance
I am distracted, sitting in the library,
by the smell of a girl
on my fingers. If I went to the bathroom
and opened my pants I would
smell her there as well.
We will never see each other again,
we never even exchanged numbers,
but I cannot do anything
in that moment but smell her on
me and remember the way our
bodies collided, our hips cracked,
our parched mouths met, our sweat
mingled on a mattress on the floor
in the sunlight, our hairs matted.
She is not the girl I will wake up
beside for years, that I will
race across town in the dead of night
in the rain to find an 24-hour
pharmacy for because she got
food poisoning at her cousin's
wedding and spent hours throwing up,
that I will end up sewing with needle
and thread the gash in her knee from
when she tripped running up the stairs
to tell me she had been transferred
to Portland, that I moved to Portland
with because the idea of not being
in the same bed, in the same shower,
eating off the same dishes, our dirty
laundry not swirling around like
cotton candy was a thought akin to
letting cancer win. Eventually, of course,
it did, and the chemicals and hope
we poured into a finite bowl of ourselves
proved insufficient, and I went back
to the library, and sat in the same chair
and held my hand to my face and inhaled
deeply, a different scent filling my head,
making my vision swim, the smell of
rhododendrons in the arboretum
in Portland, where I took her for her
birthday, and where I looked out and her
in the green fields surrounded by pink,
white, purple blossoms, each one vulgar and
tawdry beside her, each one a crumpled tissue
on a stem, and the sunlight coming down
and the birds singing, and every little thing
in this miserable unheaven was perfect
and thought, So this is love.
Lust is selfishness desire
That we get occasionally
And fades away quickly
Like fog in the morning
Love is selfish existing being
That will take things from you
And will make you do things
You never thought you would do
But you would.
Fake vs Real
Lust is conditional. It has limits.
Lust is always one sided not thinking about what the other person wants or feels.
Lust desires to obtain the object it wants at the moment, then after it gets what it desires, it throws it away like trash.
Lust only lives in the second.
Love behaves very different.
Love is unconditional and has no limits is never one sided and always thinks first of the other person before it's own wants or feelings.
Love is all encompassing, all enduring and infinite. With great Love one can do anything.
Love is your past, present and future.
It's at the tip of my tongue
and I want to say it to you
those four letters that hurt to talk about
biting away at my heart
that lurches to you, dear friend,
who yearns so badly for that
touch I give you--
when you want it:
that l-word that cuts and bites
that trails kisses down my neck
marking me up so nicely-- that l-word
that jerks and thrusts in and out
back arching, lip biting, eye watering l-word
that I don't want
because mine is different from you's.