Friday, July 11, 2008
I watch as you carelessly slosh the spiced rum with lime around in your glass. Your body moves with such familiarity and ease, I feel like crying. If you only knew how the smell of patchouli had always sickened me until you. Now I can't seem to get enough. Of you. Entwined on your beat-down brown and orange plaid couch, we breathe each other in and speak of climbing mountains - taking on the world! Relentless rpms, spinning circles around us and between us. We listen to the sounds of the earth - life pounding in our ears, pressing us to move. Writhing, panting, sweating. We are tired of this dance, yet we cannot seem to stop.