that is all

two pieces written during free-write in workshop today... not so great but at least it's something

untitled one

his voice still taunts me.
caressing the ever-so-harsh breeze,
dragging the tiniest pebbles over cliffs
and mocking their downward descent,
kissing the clouds goodbye.

the way he would lick his lips.
it still echoes through the stone cold granite,
sharper than the thorns of the blackberry bush in his garden
under which,
we used to kiss.

early autumn evenings marred by epically swaying trees.
he used to meet me there.
forever and ever unable to exist
anywhere near or far from him.

untitled two

his hands,
the cracked skin still marked by careless slips of pen
used to fit perfectly atop mine.
manly. strong. learn'ed. experienced.
jagged incongruous lines topped by unkempt nails
haphazardly shortened by bouts of nervousness.
such courage to just grab me by the waist and let me know it was ok.

he would open the door for me.
not quite silver, not quite gray or white,
but nothing but black inside.
the leather seats worn by long nights of talking
with those who came before me.
crumpled papers lay askew across the backseat,
lurching forward as he stepped on the accelerator,
the entire car thumping to the sound of sound
of south cali techno and east coast grunge.

never without a bottle of water, half drunk,
conviently placed in the cupholder between the seats,
a barrier between his intentions and my wants.
it might as well have been an ocean.

"why am i not good enough? what is so wrong with what is right in front of you?",
the regrets refuse to leave my psyche unanswered.

"thirsty?" he replied,
and shut the door.