Fingertips.

July 26, 2013 § 9 Comments

When I think about the
way your fingertips touch mine
And leave spots like an
autumn manicure in a daydream haze
I remember seasons of change,
seasons that came and went
Before the day the wind swept in
before the day you swept in.

I hope you stay, with fingers
crossed; entangled in yours. And
always caress these fingertips.

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Untitled (vii).

June 9, 2013 § 3 Comments

I feel your heart
pounding against my back.

In my ear
i hear your breath.

Your arms around
me are a safety net.

The night is
long and bright.

The world’s spinning
but we dont mind.

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dance with his father.

April 25, 2013 § 12 Comments

As a kid he was
naive and innocent
and nerdy and alone.
He chose his own company
o’er everyone else.
The books, the music,
the magazines, the cartoons;
amused him.

And then he grew up.

He now only remembers his
fathers gentle laughter
and, the way he carried
him in his arms.
He remembers how the
sunshine poured lazy rays
upon untainted walls.
And how they watched
The Lion King together
mouthing dialogues.

But mostly he remembers
how he danced with his father.

Dance with my father

Connect.

April 3, 2013 § 28 Comments

Switch off that laptop
and drop that phone.
Lets not text each other
anymore. Lets not whatsapp.
Or Facebook.Touch me. I mean,
just touch me. I don’t mean
caressing or arousing.
Just touch.

I want to mess your hair and
stroke your face. I want to run my
fingers onto that beautiful jaw line.
And feel your Adam’s apple with
my thumb.

Lets turn off the city lights and
let the dark be really dark, not
half-dark. Lets just dissolve into
each other. Not doing it, yet
connecting. At a different level.
And i don’t mean no foreplay. Just
touch.

Lets do all of that, if that’s
how we connect.

Whoever you are.

March 17, 2013 § 8 Comments

Done with our work for the day,
we go out. To a fancy restaurant. You,
me and our friends. Where a music
channel shows tacky videos of
shallow singers. We laugh at ’em.

We talk about work, music and
life: the regular stuff. Bitch about
the ones who didn’t turn up.
What’s the plan?‘, you ask.
I want to curl up on a couch
and eat hot chocolate‘, i reply.

We go to this another lounge
that’s newly opened. Aesthetic, we’ve
heard. All country-style, done with a
fireplace. I kick my pumps and sit
on the couch with folded legs, eating my
hot chocolate. This one plays
an old U2 concert.

All i want is you‘, Bono sings. While
i stare into your eyes. Deeply. You wink.
Next he sings ‘With or without you‘,
as he chooses a girl with straight hair,
and a black vest. She lies down on the
stage with him, singing.

And it’s a magical night. You touch
my fingers, put your arm around my
waist. And sing along.
I can’t live with or without you.’

It’s exactly how I’d imagined I’d
be loved. As i sit crawled up in
your arms.

Whoever you are.

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Depth III.

March 16, 2013 § 13 Comments

The night you faced the
sea frightened me more
than anything in life.

You stood and screamed as if
you were unafraid. As if you
were indifferent to the life
that gushed out of you.
Words dribbled out of your
mouth but mostly i could hear
you fighting against the
waves as they were carrying you
away from me.

I called for you to come back,
the voice trapped inside my head.
I knew that i would be drowned in
the waves and the gushing sea
but i kept calling out. It felt like
someone had lightened me up.

Maybe one day when i have
learnt how to swim the depths
of your ocean, i could do more
than to call you out from the shore.

Depth.

Depth-II.

On Relationships.

March 15, 2013 § 8 Comments

Humans, in their love relationships, are like porcupines out on a cold winter night. In order to keep from freezing the animals huddle close together. But as soon as they are near enough to provide critical warmth, they get poked by each other’s quills. Reflexively, to stop the pain and irritation of too much closeness, the porcupines separate. But once they separate, they become cold again. The chill sends them back toward each other once more, only to be impaled all over again by each other’s quills. So they retreat again. And then approach again. Endlessly.

And the cycle repeats, as they struggle to find a comfortable distance between entanglement and freezing.

 

~Deborah Luepnitz, from the book Schopenhauer’s Porcupines.

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