Sliding across skin like silk. Slipping along sultry lines. Singing as it moves. A low hum. The stars still shine, even when we cannot see them...do you?
I do....
My light is infinite. It stretches to eternity and back again. Like the lines of my stomach. Quivering to the touch. Invisible hairs standing on end. You are just a man, after all. But I am more. Much more.
My heart, however, is only human. She grows tired. Sad. When human life ends, it ends because there has been an accumulation of loss. So much so, the human body can no longer breathe. Hard to imagine this body as something other than what it is. Smooth. Supple. Like satin fabric sailing along the surface, as if in the midst of a dance. One fluid movement. Graceful. Elegant. Not at all like life.
Life is clunky. Chunky. Full of holes. Inconsistencies. Impermanence. Inky tears that leave stains down sun-drenched cheeks. My chest hurts and the pain travels down my right arm to the empty palm of my hand. Lavender graces the tips of my curling fingers, making my olive skin look warmer, despite the cold.
Humans lie. Even when they don't have to. Fear is the unreasonable reason, causing an unseasonable season. It has been winter for three years now. But spring is ever-green beneath the frost-layer. In the same way love underlies fear. Or, is it the other way around? I'm never quite sure....
How often have I thought of your soul. So light, so warm yet trapped in that baggy husk you drag around. Easier for you to hide yourself that way, I suppose. But you cannot hide from me. Nor can I hide from you. Within hours of reading Sartre, you do the same. But, through me. As if you hear an echo from the future--one you were meant to share. You do share it, just not in the way either of us expected.
You're a shadow on my wall. Always moving behind me. Beneath me. While I am the light at the end of your tunnel. No matter how close you think you are, you never seem to reach it. Reach me. Like feeling the touch of your hand as your thumb moves along my lower lip. Or, your soft beard between my thighs. Or, my thumb, curving over your sensitive tip, then gently moving through your downy-soft curls.
No matter how feathered my wings, I still bleed. I still cry. I still feel. And, I still love.
Still. Always.
Magic is real. So are miracles. For, I exist. So do you. The pain may be great. But so is the joy. The laughter. The smiles upon smiles for miles upon miles. You are more than just a fellow traveler. And, I am more than an addiction. That much, you should already know.
You do not have to apologize for feeling love or wanting love or needing love. Maybe one day, you will remember.
May I share my fondest wish? It is to experience equity while still human. It's the one thing I have yet to witness first-hand. We create wonders with our mouths, our bodies, our hands, and our minds. How very sad, and quite strange, that we still somehow feel unworthy.
I can recognize my reflection. But I do not think you can say the same....
#Seer
I do....
My light is infinite. It stretches to eternity and back again. Like the lines of my stomach. Quivering to the touch. Invisible hairs standing on end. You are just a man, after all. But I am more. Much more.
My heart, however, is only human. She grows tired. Sad. When human life ends, it ends because there has been an accumulation of loss. So much so, the human body can no longer breathe. Hard to imagine this body as something other than what it is. Smooth. Supple. Like satin fabric sailing along the surface, as if in the midst of a dance. One fluid movement. Graceful. Elegant. Not at all like life.
Life is clunky. Chunky. Full of holes. Inconsistencies. Impermanence. Inky tears that leave stains down sun-drenched cheeks. My chest hurts and the pain travels down my right arm to the empty palm of my hand. Lavender graces the tips of my curling fingers, making my olive skin look warmer, despite the cold.
Humans lie. Even when they don't have to. Fear is the unreasonable reason, causing an unseasonable season. It has been winter for three years now. But spring is ever-green beneath the frost-layer. In the same way love underlies fear. Or, is it the other way around? I'm never quite sure....
How often have I thought of your soul. So light, so warm yet trapped in that baggy husk you drag around. Easier for you to hide yourself that way, I suppose. But you cannot hide from me. Nor can I hide from you. Within hours of reading Sartre, you do the same. But, through me. As if you hear an echo from the future--one you were meant to share. You do share it, just not in the way either of us expected.
You're a shadow on my wall. Always moving behind me. Beneath me. While I am the light at the end of your tunnel. No matter how close you think you are, you never seem to reach it. Reach me. Like feeling the touch of your hand as your thumb moves along my lower lip. Or, your soft beard between my thighs. Or, my thumb, curving over your sensitive tip, then gently moving through your downy-soft curls.
No matter how feathered my wings, I still bleed. I still cry. I still feel. And, I still love.
Still. Always.
Magic is real. So are miracles. For, I exist. So do you. The pain may be great. But so is the joy. The laughter. The smiles upon smiles for miles upon miles. You are more than just a fellow traveler. And, I am more than an addiction. That much, you should already know.
You do not have to apologize for feeling love or wanting love or needing love. Maybe one day, you will remember.
May I share my fondest wish? It is to experience equity while still human. It's the one thing I have yet to witness first-hand. We create wonders with our mouths, our bodies, our hands, and our minds. How very sad, and quite strange, that we still somehow feel unworthy.
I can recognize my reflection. But I do not think you can say the same....
#Seer
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