l'arte d'arrangiarsi

when my fingers speak to the words of the small of your back, i find this to be my favorite type of discussion. punctuated with kisses on my collarbone. legs, bodies positioning into an ellipses of things better off unspoken. resulting in question marked eyes turning into exclamation marks of surprise and exhaustion at the same time, ending this hour long run-on sentence with the most comfortable period of a satisfied smile. afterwards, we whisper secretly of things that don't need to be ever said (but should be known anyway), letting them somehow slip in between the parenthesis of our mouths as they travel line by line from our doubled-over hearts into our burning ears. and though the writing in this room seems to be unclear, there is one thing that is clear: it is a moment so defining, it could not be defined.

and all i really know from this, and in terms of you and me, it's that -- i would never want there to ever be a last line.

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on trees, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now what? Don't invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious
and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whisky. It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,
but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth. You must
nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it
illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special beach. Place it on the tongue's pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The
intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

 

-Jeffrey McDaniel

if we are anything at all,

we are drinks and more drinks

and sweet, sweet drunkeness

by means of your whiskey, jack and coke

and my fancy cocktails in fancy shiny glasses

touching the center of our mouths,

we are touching, touching

of the most discreet kind

underneath tables, bars and slip-on dresses

(making us what people might think

unbelievable dysfunctional messes)

we are shadowy figures of the night

in fifty dollar darkened cabs

underlying with full intentions

of engaging in backseat trysts

with what could only be our wandering lips

that keep accidentally meeting

with open mouth kisses

while your hand, somehow, keeps slipping

because i let it

only to leave me wanting more

and outside of all of that

we are a push and pull

and a further push push away

from what we might really want

to happen between us

and we are these misinterpreted words

and a lack of communication

and incredibly high walls

with no interest in climbing them at all

but yet we still can't help but

flirt with the idea

of you and me

or you in me

and you, buying me, my next drink.

her body felt immobile afterwards,
as it always had
after an hour of skin on skin collision
discarded clothes scattered on the floor
him not wanting to stop
him only wanting more
with her in his possession,
he was yet again emergent
eager, urgent to pursue
but she, she was a bit phobic
of what the situation would turn into..
one minute they were simply being chatty
and the next they were inside sweaty sheets
with their lower bodies meeting
second after second on repeat
it was a sensation she didn't want to leave
but she wasn't sure she could handle
and in the matters of body over heart
she couldn't help but agree
with the moment and the movement
and the height of their activity
she passionately screamed yes, yes, YES..
as their tangled limbs collapsed
exhausted, defeated, she gave herself in
it wasn't worth the thought involved
it was only worth the feeling
and if this one moment satisfied that
then maybe, maybe this was all she really needed