I don’t let myself fall in love anymore.
I never have less control over myself and my surroundings as when I am in love; such a lack of control leaves me confused, disoriented. Vulnerable.
It is beautiful – beautiful in the way a dark terrible storm will rage and thunder but in it’s wake is a world cleansed and changed. Leaves torn from trees are scattered across the doorstep but those that survive fairly glisten with green and life. Nothing quites feels, tastes, smells as clean and right as the world just after a storm.
And yet it scares me. It scares me where little else does.
This was a goodbye letter that wasn’t quite goodbye.
***
4-27-98
Stilled.
once this
favored my quiet need
but now it follows
another man
and
what little left is
here?
When all is said and done.
I’ll tell you what it is to fuck
I’ll take you to the wall and nail you there
Leaving us to grip
our heads and hair and gnash our teeth on the unforgiving drive of a thing dispossesed.
The cold hard press of wall is the only support for two cruel wanting bodies. If we bite the edge and teethe on the bare honesty of two souls in heat. Perhaps the naked truth will be found in the blood and sweat left smeared against the wall.
Terror is in the eyes of one who can push you over into this, basest of all indulgences. On your knees, on your fucking knees, perhaps you will find what is left of our torn and tattered paper personalities because only animals can understand what it is to be taken so completely in a moment, crushing all else in mind, body and soul, to make them yours in a manner that leaves no question. Speak of one, of self, and you deny that there exists, in the rough grip of our most disputed and hidden desires the truth that the only absolution might well be found in the last copulation of this moment. Maybe fucking is the only absolute, saying in the most certain of terms that there is nothing more real.
I’ll tell you what it is for me to love
Love is in the middle
Of a place with no middle ground
Love is acquiescence.
Love is accepting the impossible.
That I can hold something so pure as trust that there is a tomorrow where the only thing that has changed is
how I choose to like you that day.
I cannot believe in love for me.
But the proof is in the doing
And you were there
And I was there
And perhaps I am wrong.
Perhaps it is just a beginning.
And there are worse things then being absolutely fucked
And to unknowingly love.
God that was a long time ago. Was it a beginning? The storm is still building…