3/23/01 12:18:40 AM Night time. Late march. Hotel room in an away city on some high up floor. Always betrays me back to some she from years ago. Or last week. Or yesterday. Its all the same. Late March, early June, October. Kicking the leaves on a bright blue fall day. Crisp like her lips. Whoever she was. Always coming back to this place. This feeling inside. Desiring. Caught up with longing for the past. But the past wasn’t always good. So maybe I’m caught up with longing for a girl from the past. A warm body and some human touch. We’re all like semi circles. We’ve got heat and energy escaping from our ends. So we’re out there searching for someone to close the circle. Make it whole. And then our energy, our warmth will flow through one another. Alone at night, I think of she. And wonder why I’m so damn emotionally needy. Wonder why it’s a physical tightness in my chest, stomach. Wonder why I have to live from sunny day to sunny day, dying in between, and always hoping to meet someone like she / you / her. Hoping just to hold someone today. Hoping to love someone today. Just longing to share something safe and warm with someone else who needs. I am a child. I’ve spent my life in search of tommorow. Constant expansion of the world. From one city to the next, one highway to another. But in the end, I’m always looking for the safe and warm. Always trying to find my way back to the womb. Find my way back to that dark hotel room with a girl who is holding me in her arms, sustaining me with her warmth, as a mother sustains the child growing within her. Holding me like a mother holds a boy, telling him its ok to cry, that he can cry, and so he cries, having not yet been raped by society’s definition of manhood. Please let me cry. And kiss away the violent tears with the tenderness of lovers. Conjoined bodies, exude heat, melt the flest, sear the lips, blind the soul. Draw the blinds. In the darkness, simply hold. Hold me you we. There is no world that exists outside of the world which we have created in this moment. Hold. In darkness, I see only your eyes you see only my eyes we lay bare. Having stripped away all masks, locked out the world. Now only eyes. Kiss. Kiss and hold. In the morning, if you’re gone, I will not fault you. In the morning, if you’re gone, I will still want you. But you have lives to live and bills to pay and the world kept moving through the night, having not given into such tender sleep as you and I. Night roundes always towards another day. Would you laugh if I were to tell you that I remember you much like a fairly tale? Much as a child pretending that she is Cinderella in a far off land. Alas, the bell for whom it tolls, has struck. And things must be as were before. Yet there remains a memory. Tomorrow’s drink is mixed of pain and hope and yesterday. And if perchance we’d chance to meet in Rome some day, we might speak briefly about the weather, and if time allows, remember some feeling that you / me / we left behind in some hotel room.
The Excommunication of Elizabeth I
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