I wrote this a few years ago.
Pleasure filled reunion, reminiscing and regurgitating our past recreation. God and mankind mock our modern misguided motives. We’ve barely nursed our own wounds and we’re already trying to nurse each other’s.
“Come with me my love. To the sea. The Sea of Love” Phil Phillips sang in 1959.
“Love Stinks” J. Geils sang in 1980.
“Love sinks” I say right now.
We hold hands as we once again walk carelessly across the landmine of love knowing that the bullets we are dodging are secretly nicking the future.
You squirm in my arms as I deliberately let you go to see if you come back. You run as far as you can until I appear out of nowhere and we start the game all over again.
We share a cigarette and watch the sunset on TV.
“Change the channel fast before we get too close” you think to yourself out loud.
“Please settle for my low-brow passions instead.” I think back.
Communication has always been our worst way of dealing. Or is it the best way? Not too sure anymore.
My head shrieks and my heart whines. You are the best of times and the worst of times. I have only one choice and that’s to take my time.