Tonight I can’t sleep, and tonight there is no poetry. I vowed that this evening I wouldn’t hide behind those kinds of words. You are a bearing witness to my stumbling mumbling rehearsal… at opening up.
A girl, (there’s always a girl biting her lip, saying things like honey, and please?) she claims I hide behind my words instead of telling her how I actually feel. So, I’ve decided (did I mention the lip biting?) to practice here occasionally.
She, here she’ll be Citrine, she haunts my writing, playing hiding and seek in my metaphors. (Our past is a sad story some night I’ll tell you.)
Our biggest problem is that she likes to fall asleep with me. She will curl up on my shoulder and sigh sleep breaths, but I fidget and squirm. I think of the drive in my cold car back to my own bed.
Don’t think me to be insensitive, it’s just I prefer to sleep alone
but I love waking up with someone. (Paradox rules my life.)
This is my ideal morning:
girl, morning sex, fall back asleep, pull on t tshirt and underwear, stumble to kitchen, coffee.
but this is my ideal night:
play guitar on my bed, scribble in my journal, read, sleep.
not
stare at ceiling, check cellphone clock every five minutes, get up to leave wake her up and she asks me to stay longer, repeat, freeze ass off in car, her hit every red light home, then immediately sleep because it’s so late.
If only I could have both.
Ok, so
now you know something about me. (I’m selfish.)
No comments:
Post a Comment