two faces of love
Posted: May 24th, 2014, 9:49 pm
there is that homing device that somehow becomes implanted when you are in love- like dope- you cannot sleep= twilight sleep-love less sleep is hard core-when you have gotten used to it- thought it might be there longer- that is the shocker- sweating- dreaming of touch- he is there-
but you dont listen- just keep talking, flirting- like some depraved prom queen-in a disco- or grunge bar in seattle-you keep looking over the women like they might get eaten any minute-yet in the bedroom you vaporize-you cannot live without saying how you played music on the road for nine years-
the stories when you are married that you think- 'if i have to hear this story one more time- i am going to lose my shit'- you know the story that gets told to every cousin and brother-sister -
a regular family tradtion already.
so- do you tell that story to validate that you exist? perhaps...
maybe it is just odd- him speaking at all- i almost prefer the nomadic grunts and sighs of happiness to the actual all out attempt at a full conversation-when they gather with others, rarely, maybe he just tells that story because he does not know what else to say, she looks like she does not know what to do with her hands.
i think that being a 'couple' has a dangerous side-the romantic poet goes underground in trade for great sex- in the begining- all sex is great- but as time goes on- maybe the taste buds get saturated with the same ole skin-
maybe all that love wears a person down- and the only alternative is to run- i run anyway- intimacy is kind of over - rated-and well- wouldnt we all like to have some of that?i am not going to wait around until you either get interesting and horney= i am sure that- i have spent far more years 'waiting;' then fucking.
i think that telling my son 'i wish i had been more of a slut' was the truth-but the truth is- i loved being married- it is a sick depraved ideal= that doesnt work- but when it does- i likee it- far too much-
but you dont listen- just keep talking, flirting- like some depraved prom queen-in a disco- or grunge bar in seattle-you keep looking over the women like they might get eaten any minute-yet in the bedroom you vaporize-you cannot live without saying how you played music on the road for nine years-
the stories when you are married that you think- 'if i have to hear this story one more time- i am going to lose my shit'- you know the story that gets told to every cousin and brother-sister -
a regular family tradtion already.
so- do you tell that story to validate that you exist? perhaps...
maybe it is just odd- him speaking at all- i almost prefer the nomadic grunts and sighs of happiness to the actual all out attempt at a full conversation-when they gather with others, rarely, maybe he just tells that story because he does not know what else to say, she looks like she does not know what to do with her hands.
i think that being a 'couple' has a dangerous side-the romantic poet goes underground in trade for great sex- in the begining- all sex is great- but as time goes on- maybe the taste buds get saturated with the same ole skin-
maybe all that love wears a person down- and the only alternative is to run- i run anyway- intimacy is kind of over - rated-and well- wouldnt we all like to have some of that?i am not going to wait around until you either get interesting and horney= i am sure that- i have spent far more years 'waiting;' then fucking.
i think that telling my son 'i wish i had been more of a slut' was the truth-but the truth is- i loved being married- it is a sick depraved ideal= that doesnt work- but when it does- i likee it- far too much-