Dirty, Bloody, Love

On Fridays we sat through hours of films;
comedy, romance, B-grade horror, A-grade trash.
All to be close enough for our arms to touch on top of the dirty armrest.
My mind always played tricks on me when your head moved more then an inch.
Funny how an Australian slasher flick can take a backseat to your eyes so quickly.

Allium Cepa

It's like cutting the heart
out of an onion, there's always
crying involved and layers
must be shed before it can
be used, even to the most
bland of tongues.
For a moment the smell
takes you over, invoking fear
in the nostril as triggers
in your brain push
tears to your eyes.
It's similar to the burning
sensation you get when the
one person you can't get
out of your head, tells you
that they've finally gotten
you out of theirs.

10/7/07

Nothing ever moved me
the way your touch made
me desire to see the world.
Not even the night Bob Dylan
seemed to stop everything to
sing a song that dripped
directly into my veins.
Or the time I saw Jesus
in Nashville,he had
short hair, and no beard.
Yet your soft fingers
pushed past the troubadour
and the savior of Hollywood
to keep me completely still.
Maybe, in some way, you
are Europe, and this
wanderlust is simply my
desire to know you better
than I already do.

10/2/07

Sometimes I think about the
way she used to look at me.
Lips the color of peppermints.
Eyes like almond M&M's.
Like she just couldn't ever
get enough.
Sometimes I think about the
way she used to look at me,
but it's getting harder
and harder
to remember.