I feel your hands before your lips. You're pressing me against the wall, our torsos coming together, we're melting together. Your lips are soft and your movements are sticky sweet. I feel your hands everywhere until I remember your lips on mine again. I kiss you back, finally. It's what you've been feeling for. Now you begin a search for something more. I feel your lips in new places. I want you to find everything. I'm begging the gods for you to find everything. My mind is spinning with all your touches. My heart is racing, my body aching for more. You bite my neck and grip my ass simultaneously and I am more yours now than I thought I could be. I want you to find everything because I want to give you everything. I want you so bad in the best way possible. I can't stop feeling you everywhere. Every nerve has multiplied by 1000, I am sure of it. The heightened sensation has left me powerless, firm in body and limp in mind. I am so very much yours. I am offering myself to you. You're drinking me in, tasting me, taking me. Enthralled by nothing but lips and hands I fail to immediately realize that clothes are being shed. You are kissing fresh, new skin. It's all bright and shiny, and you're playing with me like it's Christmas morning. You're touching all my new parts, tasting all my new flavors, seeing all the new things you're able to do with me. And I just get to bask in the euphoria of your hands and your lips and your tongue, everywhere. It's still sticky sweet and slow like raw honey, even though now you're getting ready to take me further. I center myself, aching and waiting for the moment. It's not sudden like I'm used to. It stays slow, you're walking me there, slowly, dancing me into this new place. We're waltzing, gliding up a hill. You reach my utmost peak and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I feel like I know nothing. I gasp, clutching you, wanting to feel more of you. Keep it sticky sweet and slow, I whisper in your ear. Our skin is meeting in different places. Your shoulder is brown with a purple taste, like a ripe plum, when I bite into it gently. The taste and the sound you make is enough to push me down that hill. It's faster, harder, not rushed but fast none the less. There's a mountain to climb now. We're on a bed, I realize. You're pulling away to gain leverage, I'm pulling the sheets like rope, and I just want to reach the top. I am calling out, begging to be taken there, begging you to be the one. I feel so good, everything on my body feels so damn good. Within minutes we're almost to the top, and suddenly I wish it wouldn't end. Somehow in all the sticky sweet goodness, you swim through and lean into me, assuring me that it won't ever really end, asking me to take the last step, pull myself onto the peak. Then it happens, I've made it. I've never felt so much in one sensation. I'm yours and you're mine. There's something spiritual happening. My nerves have exploded. My body is shaking. My heart is pounding. Then you kiss me and a calm falls over everything and we sleep.

Fear

I am scared of this. I'm fighting a faith of which I am almost powerless. He is so very likable, lovable even. Thinking too far into the future has caused me nothing but trouble, and yet I think about so many tomorrows, and next-weeks and next-months. I never forget that I'm afraid of those future days, weeks and months. Because what if he isn't in them? I've made that a simple question though; I'd fear them no less or no more. I fear tomorrow because there's an exam. I fear next week because there's another exam. I fear next month because there are finals, and I have to face my family for more than a weekend. I fear so much besides him. I've tricked myself, because really I don't fear him at all. I fear my feelings for him. I fear our luck turning. I fear him becoming bored with me. I do not fear him within his own self. I fear the possibilities, and I want them all. I want all our possibilities. Every drop. I want this. With a healthy fear, I believe in us.

I Promise I'll Never Cry Again

Take me back to my childhood,
take me back to the beginning.
Put me to sleep so that when I awake,
I’m back to six years old.
Six years into the life I didn’t even know I had.
Reckless, an impenetrable fortress of noise and laughter.
Take me back to my childhood,
take me back to the beginning.
Put me back into my father’s lap,
and make him the only man who matters.
Six minutes into some cartoon we both found so funny.
So cared for and adored.
Take me back to my childhood,
take me back to the beginning.
Six books into bedtime,
just a few more minutes until my eyes close and I’m a wild thing too.
So warm in my bed.
Take me back to my childhood,
take me back to the beginning.
Six bouts of the giggles to overcome,
as I help my mother make spaghetti.
So full of indescribable love and pasta.
Take me back to my childhood, take me back to the beginning.
Six more years before I know what sex is.
And before I’m worried about lip gloss and boys.
So full of innocence and the purest curiosity.
Take me back to my childhood,
I just want my childhood.
Take me back to my childhood,
I promise I’ll never cry again.

Parts of Love

Part I
I'm forgetting him. It's almost scary and it startled me today when I tried to remember what he used to make me feel. I don't know it anymore. I wonder, if what I felt was never really there. I tried my best to remember a kiss, but I can't. I tried my best to remember the happiness, but I can't. I tried my best to remember the love, but it's almost gone, and it's dying to take my memories to it's grave. So next, I'll bury myself in them, I'll bury myself in the memories. But I still can't remember the kisses. Then suddenly I remember the comfort. I remember the ease. I remember him being a part of me and vice versa. How did I ever go on without that part of me, I wonder? Then again, did I really lose it? I should still have it. He should still have it. Only I let it sink to the bottom. And him? Well he just slapped a new coat of paint on it. I don't know if he's realized that he's in the same place that he ended, just covering up our remnants with a fresh coat. It saddens me to see him in the same spot. I think he's happy, but knowing him as I was then and knowing him as I am now, I couldn't tell you. I usually just brush it off as him being someone who knows who they are and what they want. I doubt it though. I still don't know who I am. I still have the chance to be whoever I want. And so does he. It makes me sad that he might not have that experience until it's too late, and it turns into a mid-life crisis and collateral damage ensues. Then again, he could go on the rest of his life, pleased with the decisions he's made about himself, and who he chose to love, and how he chose to live. Maybe I'm just projecting my fears. But I don't fear my unknown self...

Part II
I know I still love him. Something is still there. I wish terribly that I knew how to make it go away, but I don't. He probably couldn't pull that emotion up if he wanted to, because I suspect it was never really there. Loving him is a form of personal torture that I periodically subject myself to when questioning my sanity, which is more often that I'd like. After a while though, I realized that all the love in the world won't make anything work. There are a lot of things that can get in the way of love, overshadow it, and even push it into complete obsolescence. He is my mystery, my anomaly, and I'm learning to live with it in order to move forward and be truly happy.

Part III
I tend to write about the past, but he is not my past. He is my right now and I don't really know how to describe us because we have been lucky enough not to encounter love just yet. I like that I just like him. That's it, and right now it's more than enough. He doesn't rush me, us. He is damaged, and I am damaged, and that could be great and terrible and I am completely okay with that fact. I enjoy learning him, so much. And I'm learning that even if tomorrow never comes, that I have him today, and that's enough.

Killing Time

I keep trying to kill time,
but for some reason this motherfucker won't die.
So here I am thinking of a million ways,
to pass the minutes, the hours, the days.
I'm just trying to make it to the other side,
and I'm hoping that you're there at the end of the ride.
There are things I can't explain,
emotions and feelings ingrained,
to my past I feel chained,
I haven't changed.
But, that's impossible though,
'cause I'm not the same me from a year ago.
And yet still I see the difficulty of all this,
every single time we kiss,
I make a wish.
I wish for strength and trust, honest lust,
because besides the trust,
and the strength and all that,
sometimes a girl like wouldn't mind gettin' her ass slapped.
Yeah, I said it, that vulgar shit,
do I sound like I care in the slightest?
But back to killin' this bitch time,
I can't sit still watching the second hand glide.
I wanna stab this bitch, I wanna make her die,
but killing time has never been easy for anybody.
If you figure it out, let me know,
until then I guess I'll just let it go.

Yesterday

Your face looks just like my yesterday. And when I look in the mirror, I see tomorrow in my own. There came a point a while ago when I looked you in the eyes, your familiar lips and cheekbones, and I realized that yesterday you mattered and today you don't. The transition went unnoticed and I'll admit I was surprised. There was a time when I fought with myself constantly about who I'd let you be to me. I obsessed over it, I yearned for more and less and everything in between. You were my second love and my only regret all wrapped into one. I wasted time, I made mistakes. You were my biggest failure and my greatest learning experience. You are my anomaly and I will never understand it and I am settled on that. Never at peace, but I'm settled. You are my yesterday. I am my tomorrow.

All the things I wish we had,
went out the window when it all went bad.
You're fucking me over, you're so remiss.
It's fucked up that it only takes one kiss.
One look dead in my eye to make it okay,
but what about the next day?
What about what I say?
Don't make it seem acceptable,
because these actions are regrettable.
The only problem is you're unforgettable,
not haveable, not grabable.
Sometimes I wish I felt bad that it feels so good.
Sometimes I wish you'd do the things I know you could.
Sometimes I wish you'd just sit us on the shelf,
because I know I can't do it myself,
you're so bad for my health.
I can barely find my mental stability,
because whenever you get into me,
I find I'm fucked mentally,
just as much as physically.