9 posts tagged “pretty words”

The thing about living in this city is that it doesn’t matter how vast it is, how many people it consumes, the speed it works in — it never seems to let me forget how many times I’ve loved and hurt and been broken, or where these things happened. It doesn’t matter how many new places, nooks, corners, high rises I discover, it doesn’t matter how many someones you surround yourself with — seeing that one flower shop, sitting in that park, watching that fountain flow, passing that church tower, running around like kids in the biggest known toy store in the city will never erase the memories you spent with the one you thought you’d spend something like forever with. And even if these places disappear, fall down, crash, or are rebuilt — you come to realize that the memories don’t go that easily, and they will stay, for however long they can, in the deepest corner of your heart, because at one time they meant the world and sometimes you’ll miss it, want to relive it, but someday somebody will change your mind and in time, the city will look anew again, ready for more adventures in love.

with you, it always begins with a some kind of build-up,
an exchange of electronically riddled messages
with a hint of flirtation underlying,
implying the idea of unspoken urges
of lying beneath the dark,
fully completing what this build-up was from the start.
working with only our minds and never our hearts,
(though i still can't help but question mine,
i know yours is much more 'smart')
...down the line to our fingertips, we set this course in action
mixing both subtleties and playful reactions
in the cups we drink to get ourselves drunk
with lust and love and trust and boldness and might
while we let our bodies linger as we dance
around the possibilities that float throughout the night

(where at this point, i get the feeling you want it just as much as i do,
but you like to play the tease and almost never want to say you do)

so the chaser becomes the chasee and we cycle back and forth until we fall
and i like to think that together we both gave in, and finally broke down our walls
for that one dawning state of happiness that this all began around.
i have to say when it comes down to it ... i happen to enjoy the final sound.

with you, i always knew it was never going to be that easy
but sometimes i like to go along, because in the end, it pleases me.

After A While

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman,
not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn…

--Veronica A. Shoffstall

he's in it for the chase
of the matter
--not because i matter
he's in it for the smile
i cause to creep upon his face
onto his light pink lips
i've always had this urge to kiss, kiss
and he's in it for the glow
in knowing i can't get enough of him
through the blush i still attempt to hide in
(because i have the hardest time hiding it)
but deep down inside,
we both know--he'll never give in
or succumb to what i could give him
because his eyes, they don't rely
on just how lovely this prize is
but on what a thrill it is
of somehow, someway,
getting his way
through my door
... and nothing else,
nothing more.

--

found this poem in another journal of mine -- i wrote it back in january, but reading it all over again brings those feelings back to mind, or should i say heart?

when everything's a reaction to an action, to a reaction, it seems like your heart will never be satisfied, and that your thoughts will never be justified by anything but your own pride. it makes me wonder sometimes how we even lasted this long with a past full of nothing but a strong foundation we made up in our heads .. . though i'd hate to think that that only means that we must've been delusional, using you, using me, never making the best of 'we' (& possibly just constantly mistaking ourselves for best friends over the amount of history). it was only what was of our own interest, at the time, all the time with not enough time for anything else except ourselves, was it just too much effort for us care for someone else? i suppose that in the end, that was our ultimate demise and although sometimes it could make a girl like me want to cry, i can't -- i can't anymore -- because we very well both know at this point, there just isn't a point to even react to an act of something that was never even really there to begin with, mostly not now and maybe not ever before.

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 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