letter

convinced your scent will never leave the place it has burrowed into under my fingernails,
i try to meet you at your altitude and now you are gone
and im just another bird carried by the whim of the stratosphere.
this high flying freedom used to be where we all lived and drank wine
and i remember when. and that used to be. and once it was.
even the mountain will pause before the sun rises over its edge and forms its lines.
every smile will still always be mine
the watercolor in the rain on the window

meeting

we first met in that japanese restaurant you were sitting there looking nervous and expectant with a glow that i would come to love faster than i ever could have anticipated - a shiny-ness to the skin that spoke of a light hidden behind your eyes and the fire burning underneath your words and your bites on my neck - talking about the most mundane things with seven headed meanings in a language only between you and me no one else eating caterpillar rolls and chicken teriyaki in the shiny red seats stolen from the back of polyurethane disco in our hidden grotto - of course i had to get you drunk or was it you who bought the drinks i dont remember but i'm glad neither of us resorted to those monday conversations that bore me and make me want to implode - the current rushes through your body from toes i kicked your foot underneath the table and you squeezed the glass in your hand and it broke into eleven magic pieces - water spilled all over the table and blood began to seep out of the cut - einz zwei drei fear - like clockwork the bicuspids begin to grow as the scent reaches the brain or does it go between the legs - it overpowers the tempura on the table, overpowers the flowery fragrance of the waitress, overwhelms the wasabi, overpowers the jasmine tea, and the room becomes only the red. the copper smell. the blossom on your hand the contrast of tan skin and dark maroon - your black and white self portrait in 33 dots per inch resolution - the moment of forgetting to be human and the recognition in your eyes how subtle and quick - everything else is a blur until the next moment your lips were torturing me with soft promises of violence to come over my skin raindrops lemondrops - the static of the vinyl record playing 33 and one third rotations per minute the sound of the air between us becoming alive - so easy to compose to the sound of two bodies harmony coming together that take only a few moments to sync and become a third recitatif in mezzo forte -