pb

i want you draped over me, in my lap, in my grip, in those indigo jeans and striped tee. touch, feel, press fingers over soft/hard ribs and hipbones. i want to bury my face in the crook of your neck, listen to you breathe and feel your palms pressed contentedly on my shoulders and arms. i want to read to you and taste your thoughts before you give them voice. i want you breathe me in and know i belong nowhere but with you.





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it's snowing outside. hard. also, i have this strange (actually physical) pain in my breast, just hidden 'neath the sternum. sort of hurts/burns/stabs at once. sort of feels like a dry, sandy, dead-dust bronchitis, as i'm not hacking or wheezing or anything near feebly sick. not indigestion, i know what that feels like (i'm an old dude [right milk doll?], remember?). happens upon drawing breath, just feels like the bronchial tubes are chafing agaisnt oxygen and love. i've always been a healthy horse, good for riding and clutching and just generally being beat upon. never been one of those sickly souls (unless you're really meaning soul...then we'll talk). my lungs, however, have for long and long always been my weak point(s). maybe they'll do me in the end.


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i thought perhaps this sunday, today, would be somehow different--(brighterlightermaybeplease)--somehow defiant in the face of a life of half-filled cups and hopeless, lonesome wandering among dead trees and buried leaves. bone-weary and numb, filled in an empty way with this longing and constant hope that the rest of my days will be as these last few. i pray, in an agnostic sort of way, for convergence, for shattering paradigms, for vengeance on my past days of despair. do you remember despair? don't we all? the memory of it, just, is enough to color these sunday afternoons with blue-tinged hesitance in the face of something wonderful.

eyes are opening, awakened consciousness spiraling into the ugly truths of our world and, conversely, heart-rending realizations of the depths of beautiful possibility.

wait, hold on. numb? i believe i said that. don't listen so closely to me, some things shouldn't be taken so seriously. numb is no longer a problem for me, it's merely a periodic and necessary reaction to all of the loving, hurting, hoping, living i've been doing recently. i've never in all my self-torturing, introspective, naive, brash, lustful, hopelessly romantic life been so privy to such a full gamut of life experiences and thoughts. growing pains, sweet and crippling and welcome.

i wouldn't have it any other way.




-pb