tangents lead nowhere
and soak up so many tocks of the clock
that one cannot ever get again.
i ache for you, tangential love.
only a theory
whose probability is more than "never"
but still questionable.
why is tomorrow such a duplication?
i must change today to prevent the future
from living in my reflection.
She'd built up this idealized expectation, this idea that dramatic moments in life grew into the same opuses that they did in films. So it is regrettable, then, that her attempt to create a poignant visual "moment" fell flat without the requisite filmmaker's entourage. Sally's scene, as it were (within her head), saw her taking up scissors in a shaky hand and taking bold strokes with the least possible boldness. Her hand wavered and carefully cut her hair -- its color unimportant -- at the same length, best she could tell.
I want you.
Not just in spite of,
but because
of the chaos you promise.
you're a hurricane i follow
for the chance to stand
in your calm eye.
Strange, then, that she grew suddenly more confident and sure-footed as she stepped over that invisible boundary in the night, a simple step taking her from reality to dream -- one simple step changing one into the other. In this new spot, she still resisted the rising sun progressing the gradient behind her eyelids from dusky grey to something markedly warmer. She still unsuccessfully struggled against the barrage of tasks and responsibilities awaiting her in the dawn. The idyllic silence of slumber was slipping away and she could resist it no longer. She began her waking sequence, arching her back into the warm, hard body encircling her small frame. A hardness responded in kind, answering the request with a firm "yes". Perhaps there could be a few moments spared before reality -- if that was truly what this was -- crashed in. Her stretch slid into gyrations and she slid her arm down ever further to investigate what needed no further confirmation.
and soak up so many tocks of the clock
that one cannot ever get again.
i ache for you, tangential love.
only a theory
whose probability is more than "never"
but still questionable.
why is tomorrow such a duplication?
i must change today to prevent the future
from living in my reflection.
She'd built up this idealized expectation, this idea that dramatic moments in life grew into the same opuses that they did in films. So it is regrettable, then, that her attempt to create a poignant visual "moment" fell flat without the requisite filmmaker's entourage. Sally's scene, as it were (within her head), saw her taking up scissors in a shaky hand and taking bold strokes with the least possible boldness. Her hand wavered and carefully cut her hair -- its color unimportant -- at the same length, best she could tell.
I want you.
Not just in spite of,
but because
of the chaos you promise.
you're a hurricane i follow
for the chance to stand
in your calm eye.
Strange, then, that she grew suddenly more confident and sure-footed as she stepped over that invisible boundary in the night, a simple step taking her from reality to dream -- one simple step changing one into the other. In this new spot, she still resisted the rising sun progressing the gradient behind her eyelids from dusky grey to something markedly warmer. She still unsuccessfully struggled against the barrage of tasks and responsibilities awaiting her in the dawn. The idyllic silence of slumber was slipping away and she could resist it no longer. She began her waking sequence, arching her back into the warm, hard body encircling her small frame. A hardness responded in kind, answering the request with a firm "yes". Perhaps there could be a few moments spared before reality -- if that was truly what this was -- crashed in. Her stretch slid into gyrations and she slid her arm down ever further to investigate what needed no further confirmation.
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