we are both dreamers

i never knew i had such a talent for destruction. in a matter of days it is a virus in my head, creeping into my darkest thoughts in the black of the night, desire sinking into my mind like ink in water. this is not going to end well, and you already know it. but you already know how it’s going to go, and you know how it started. you remember the first time you met and how your eyes met across a table full of people – tentative at first, your eyes averting downwards before you realised what was happening. you feel his gaze on you and it is burning against your skin, you could almost feel his fingers hard and deliberate, breaking vessels as if he could mark you. i just want you to touch me, not feel me. the thought of it makes me shudder, even in the embrace of a cigarette. everywhere i go the stale smoke hangs in my hair like the thoughts i carry around all day.

the thing is i haven’t been able to hear myself think for awhile now and on the nights i am beginning to, i don’t even think i want to. i know this can’t go on but i want it so hard, to live in stolen moments like this, for as long as i can.

to his coy mistress

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love would grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vaults, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball,
And tear our pleasure with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

body of light

in some ways the days and weeks have become to meld into one another – i am losing track of dates, of days, of time and yet i find myself returning to the same moments over again and again. fresh beer foam hitting the tip of my tongue, hedonistically drawing smoke into my lungs again and again, throwing myself into the darkness just so for the thrill of it, the promise of feeling life afresh anew again, if only to sift through the haze that has settled itself upon my sober awakening self, gathering dust on my face, wool on my eyes.

i should be so happy, so perfect but it is oblivion i want – coming close enough to drown myself in the liquid night of your eyes, feeling your lips like heaven, spilling my mouth with stars.