| escape from the bustling street below.
i am weighed the moment i walk in.
not enough substance. i need coffee.
the interesting man behind the counter slouches over and peers into my eyes.
those poetic eyes.
his i don't give a shit shoes drag as he grabs a coffee mug from a cluttered shelf.
brown. broken.
cafe mocha. too cliche. black coffee. already had 3 cups today.
something with cherry and almond. just artsy enough i decide.
i yearn to stay and talk to the man with poetic eyes.
i am well read. liberal enough. but i don't.
i slide onto the lumpy couch. pull my bare feet under me.
sip my coffee and read some coffee table poetry book.
|
| |
| "i thought it was a lovely story, especially the part about the fig tree in winter under the snow and then the fig tree in the spring with all the green fruit. i felt sorry when i came to the last page. i wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig tree." --the lovely sylvia plath. i find myself longing for something to long for. endless days with nothing worth lasting endlessly. apathy will be the death of me. if i were to find a fig tree lacking snow and ice, i would nap underneath it until i awoke from apathetic dreams and arose to the world able to function once again. i would be ever thankful to the fig tree. but it seems to me that fig trees do not exist at all. it is as probable to find a fig tree as it is to crawl in between lines of print separating me from the worlds bound within books unread. i desperately want to wake up. feel, not just the warm unrelenting tears falling down my wind burned cheeks, but emotions enough to bring me back to life. revive me. like that mythical fig in the spring time. |
| |
| the marks we made will not endure.orange lights fade to dull hues. i cannot taste your kiss.breathe your breath.feel your skin. a morning like any other. the sun rose and it will fall. but that smile. sounds of leaves falling. smell of winter. cold breeze blowing my skirt. i remember it all so well. my scarf fell and was misplaced amongst the deep sea of reds and burnt oranges. i was falling. you told me to close my eyes. whispered. "remember this moment", you said. i do. |
| |
| "this is how it works
you peer inside yourself
you take the things you like
and try to love the things you took
and then you take that love you made
and stick it into some--
someone else's heart
pumping someone else's blood" thank you for sticking your love into my heart.
i would like to run away. stay away. maybe canada. life seems simpler when you are near and we are away. upon listening to music with my brother, he commented that what i was listening to was horrible. i told him that the artist was a musical genius. in response, he simply said "she could be the smartest person in the world and still not be able to sing". touche. |
| |
| you are my sweetest downfall...  cool sheets, smooth skin. morningbeckons. i yearn to reside within your eyes. the world containedwithin those dancing browneyes. my world. kisses elatemy restless soul. lovely alarmclock. sweet smiles offeredas snooze. i want only tobe held. by you. sweet boy.this day can wait. on us. |
| |
