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Friday, November 11, 2005 

It Feels Like Tuesday on a Friday

I want to, open you up like a watermelon, and watch your seeds fall to the floor. You are summer, sticky and sweet, and when I am with you I am lost in fantasies of the future and memories of the past all at the same time.

You are the sound of hearts beating and the warmth of blood flowing. If I told you how I felt I would be left standing naked in the field, this feeling is too much and I would be bare without it.


Today is Tuesday and we are under the covers. I cover your ears and say, shush. There is no alarm clock in this room, there is no time. I forbid work to intrude, rip the phone out of the wall, lock the dog out of the room. You are me and I am you and for right now, for this moment, I want you to forget where your limbs end and mine begin. I want to teach you the meaning of becoming one. I want you to look at me, through me, and see you.



I want I want I want. I say you are my prisoner when it is obvious the truth is the exact opposite. I extend my wrists to you and you kiss them gently. Ignoring the faint lines, the scars of time, you find the faint blue of my veins and trace them with your tongue while I inhale sharply.

It is raining in June and we are late.