Tuesday, February 07, 2006
you make me feel like i wanna be a dumb blonde in a centerfold
you make me feel like a sticky pistil
leaning into her stamen
you make me feel like mr. sunshine himself
you make me feel like splendor
in the grass where we're rolling
damn skippy, baby
you make me feel like the amazon's running
between my thighs
feelin' love, paula cole
you've gotten under my skin. the first thing i write after you go is a lyric from the song i lap-danced for you.
remember how you left me? gasping in awe, lips and legs slightly parted to your memory. i have a feeling that when we talk on the phone tonight, i will tell you, matter-of-factly, as if ordering an apéritif, "do me till i can't breathe." and maybe as an afterthought, "like bunnies. let's do it like bunnies." and you will tell me, gently, to wait until you come home again.
you charm the storied world right out of me. until there is nothing left but this itch i can't quite scratch. this tingling of senses like raw, exposed nerves. this sticky-sweet emptiness that experts on the matter would call LOVE.
love, they say.
but i don't know a love like this.
i do know you, though. i think that's enough. i know the feel of you, the intimacy of you, the fragments of you that stick to me when i sit in bed, in your clothes, playing pretend. i've always played good pretend, but lately, it just isn't as fun anymore. i want us to break into being together, rilke-style, into tiny, shiny pieces. then maybe we could clean up the glorious mess and do it all over again.
and that's it, i suppose. i've no prettified words today. just these for you to do with as you like. because, really, i want you too much to actually want to think straight. i miss you miss me.
