in my dreams i do.

fingers trembling with desire, the
need to touch you felt overwhelming.
the pounding of my heart as i pushed
them deep inside of me, pretending
its you.

wanting to feel you, to make love
to you, "nice & slow". its been a long
time since i last thought about
you in that way.

i did last night.

This somehow sums it up. Unexpectedly. Of course.

Your taste is something that Godiva couldn't re-create

Necessity is placed upon me knowing you are the source of my serendipity
Make-up melting
Tu eres mi pecado mortal
Covered in body prints and finger prints and you above me

Your name written indelibly upon my body in your genetic history

As you lick torturing me
I get a temporary case of tourettes

in a four octave-range screaming your name

You fucking me makes me bilingual.

(parts of Bilingual by Jose Nunez)

"please.. let me read you." was my only thought.

you rest your head on my belly, i watch the
sun rays lick your body, pausing at your thighs
with your childish manner you take my
hand and put it on your left breast
the familiar feeling of your soft skin makes
hair on the back of my neck stand

"boobees!" you exhale with laughter.

for me speaking at that moment was long
forgotten, all i could concentrate on was my
breathing, trying to control it and failing
miserably.

"i have another one," you silently whisper.

as if i didnt know every line and hill of your
breasts, as if touching every dark swirl of
your nipples wasnt almost like reading
braille. reluctantly i move my fingers and
suddenly blood rushes to my
face.

i am never more easily transparent than
when you look into my eyes. im glad you
were facing the ceiling.

I start to wonder...

Maybe I would have been
Something you'd be good at
Maybe you would have been
Something I'd be good at
But now we'll never know
I won't be sad
But in case
I'll go there
Everyday,
To make myself feel bad
There's a chance
I'll start to wonder
If this was the thing to do

Tegan and Sara: Call It Off

untitled poem.

there are 33 texts on my cell phone that
im afraid to delete, cus i keep thinking
we have lost the connection and you
wont send more.

they even have a separate folder.

theres an old note from you in my
notebook that i cant bring myself to
throw away, cus i want to keep the memory
of your feelings towards me.

i carry it with me.

theres a time bomb on my mind telling
me to call you, but i dont think you want
to hear all the stupid things i have to say.

i wouldnt know how to put it into words anyway.

and its just too easy to tell you how angry
i am in an untitled poem that can be
taken so many different ways, but youve
broken me too many times for me to
want to tell you im still in love.

today ive decided to stop waiting for you.

My last unsent letter to you.

You are tattooed all over. Yet I will never show you the tattoo you made on me. In me.

you make the air melt.

nothing unexpected about this. every single time you manage to turn me around. i'm such a sucker. and i know it. you take every fucking opportunity you get to try to kiss me. you're getting better and better at it. it used to be kinda aggressive, pushing me against the wall. but now, oh now you're becoming an expert. you just show up there, i turn around, you move just a bit closer, nothing pushy about it, it's sweet, it makes the air melt, i feel your breath, the sweetness of it, you don't touch me, no hands there, just lips, your mouth slightly open, you eyes slightly closed... i fall for it. every single time. i move towards you, stop, move back, move your way again, and then finally step back, using the last inch of rationality left.

good thing we have the alcohol to blame?