Labels: A not-so silent prayer, love letters

I give that....

We sat across from one another, forcing ourselves not to make eye contact.  Overly interacting with our fellow diners and burying our faces in the lamented menus that the perky waitress had presented to us upon arrival.  Still riding our rhythm and libation high, we would occasionally share a laugh or two when reminiscing on the club scenes we endured mere hours ago.  Our plates arrived and we ate under a haze-like silence in which our minds played out what was to come.  You excused yourself to visit the facilities and that's when it happened.  Your hand, while reaching out to grab the side of the table as a leverage aide, grazed mine.  Both of our necks whipped about with such force that my eyes lost their ability to focus for a brief second or two.  We connected and found our bodies uncontrollably pulling towards each other.  In a desperate attempt to block the inevitable, I loudly summoned the waitress to ask for the check.  You, taking advantage of the lapse, rushed off to the bathroom.  I stood waiting for you at the door, having already paid the bill and donned my coat.  We caught a cab and endured one of the most tortured rides of our brief relationship.  Sitting on opposite ends of the backseat, our fingers instinctively reached for each other across the seat.  Time itself was our foe, for she was dragging with such defiance.  Upon entering your front door, what was preordained began than ended. began than ended. and began and ended again. 

Sunday morning light, I stretched my limbs in the warmth of the sun gleaming upon me through a slit in the blinds.  There you lay, your face as calm and tranquil as one who had achieved a lifetime of transcendence.  Kissing the tip of my finger, I placed it against your lips and whispered a good morning against your cheek.  I rolled my vaguely sore, naked form lightly out of bed and walked to the kitchen in search of the kettle.  Your home began to smell of cinnamon and butter, avocado and spice.  You arose within 30 minutes of the wafting flavor clouds to join me at the stove.  You stood behind me for quite some time.  I knew.  I felt your stare.  You walked up behind and turned me to face you, there we stood lost in each other's eyes. You said to me that I was one of a kind, that you didn't understand how I could be so familiar in touch and aura. You asked me why I still treated you so tender after so much time apart.  My reply was a simple one:  I loved you then and I love you still, why would time change my love?


It's that...
That 'morning-after' tea love.
That snuggle and talk love.
That 'tell me what you need' love
That kiss you on the eyelid love
That dry you off after we shower love
That stroke your head on my lap love
That hold you while we read love
That interlocking fingers love 
That slowdance atop the bed love


I give that Sunday kind of love.


It's not overwhelming yet it is far from transparent
It lays dormant until circumstance beckons
It is warm and gentle, it listens and it heals
It nurtures on the dark days and cheers on the light ones.
It defends with the care of a mother to her cub
It embraces when it is needed most
and excuses itself when it is cared for least.

Labels: love letters, That Sunday Kind Of Love

What they don't tell you is that they can end without fault from either of the involved parties.  In youth, we are often brought up under the assumption that it takes a 'fuck-up' by your partner (or yourself) to end relationships.  It also embedded that relationships cease due to changes in personality, values, and/or interests; to put it plainly, you grow apart.  Although, it is true that these occurrences are common, they are not always the case.

Sometimes, just sometimes....relationships simply, run their course.

Not all relationships are meant to last lifetimes. The beauty of their significance is found is the fragility of their existence, and that my freaky darlings, is why relations long since past should always be looked upon with an air of awe.  Fuck all of that analyzing, anger, regret, and ...occasional nausea.  That period of time was likely lavish in experience, sensation, knowledge, and/or orgasm (dependent upon the relationship's degree).

Labels: love letters, relationships end

One woman called it 'game', one man called it 'rap'
They say I'm charming and seductive; that my words are aphrodisiacs and I'm a smooth motherfucker.

In response, I simply reply, for what reason should I lie? Falsehoods are bitter and rotten to the tongue, and my tastebuds deserve not the disgrace. I have no desire to gas your head nor do I seek to woo you out of your Vickies. Take my words at face value, my motives are not ulterior.

"You are beautiful"
...now look me in the eye and tell me that I'm up to good.

  "Your flesh is as sacred to me as black gold"
...now take my hands and tell me that I'm lying.

"You are home to me" 
...now hug me and tell me you believe that I'll let you go.

 I speak graphically & I speak truthfully. In a world drenched in lies and misdeeds, take solace in the fact that all the hidden beauties of their and our existence can be found via the slit of my lips.

Labels: love letters

We both agreed that it was best that we part ways; our hearts however, never got the memo. The universe it seems, also missed out on the state change.

Why do you always wait for me around each corner? Why must I stand behind you on every lunch line? When will I ever be able to sit in the park without catching your eye across the lake? What won't you do to grab my attention at the jam-packed disco? Clearly, I over amplify the severity of our condition but even you must admit that the mischievous wolves are heavy a' plotting against our state of separation.

Huddled in the backseat of this yellow cab, plagued by the influence of wines and spirits, I silently plea with the forest guardians for reign over my fate. May it not be in vain.

Labels: degrees of separation, love letters

Labels: love letters