i will not go down this road again.

maybe i made the right choice, maybe i didn't.

If I could hold
Debussy
tight to my chest,
pull him so close that
doubt
could not breathe between us,
I would
put my hands
on his face
and say,
“I can live without you.”
He might do
several things,
but I’d want him to grind my hands
to paper nuggets
with rage.
I’d want him to pull
out my hair
and spit on me.
I’d want him to ignite the air
for his music,
because sometimes
I’m alright
with silence.
But
likely he would not behave as such,
because I only know
Claire de Lune,
and no doubt he would
understand
that I lack
musical sensitivity.

i wonder what it's like to go on a date.

seems pretty nice. i'd like to try.

(sometimes i catch myself pretending i'm a dress with long eyelashes and the kind of smile i've never worn before. sir, you sway me with these promises.)

i don't think
i can manage a tenderness appropriate
for that groove of skin
hidden
by the
weight of your breast.
i want to
fill my mouth
with that shy moistness,
until the softness of my breath
and the softness of those secrets
and the softness of your skin
become
tactile
on your body,
indistinguishable.

don't walk away darling, c'mere

things that need to happen soon:

- my tat
- reconciliation
- monroe 2.0
- christmas decorations
- finished christmas list
- MOAR BOILED CUSTARRRDD

tbc