Saturday, January 20, 2007


The warm bitter taste of the last sip of my Corona made me think of you and your naked back standing in my bathroom doorway. I imagined the deep divide at your lower back separating you into two equally georgous halves. Placing the bottle on my nightstand I remembered your dark-skinned wolverine physique contrasting my white sheets and how smooth it felt when your leg rubbed against mine. I pressed my face in that deep groove many Monday mornings reluctant to leave it.

Now months away I don't know what to make of you. Our time together was as if flipping though a comic book. Just a continuation of a story of which I arrived in the middle. I am volume 24; issue 12 in the story of a man so grounded with the ability to fly. A mutant living amongst mortals disguising the supernatural, occasionally pausing to save a life like mine to then again hide in the shadows of fools.
I still don't know what to make of you. Or of us.
But I hold on to the smell of your hair and the feeling of your neck grazing the bridge of my nose and the groove of your back. We were no more than a pretty picture on a page of many. But I'll slide Volume 24; issue 12 under my mattress for keeps. Yeah... and sometimes take a look over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of you in the sky.
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1 comment:

  1. renee8:22 PM

    I see you are blogging again. I like.


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