***
Glass Marbles
I talk about silly things like that over the phone at 45c/minuite.
Lacoste, Jeans, Clean Underwear.
Brown Bikini, Wet Skin, Dirty Tangas.
Tequila shots and DIY bar-tops,
House pours and self-composed Jazz music, produced by unsure fingers that stumble across stained ivory.
***
This evening, after a long while, and a great long while at that, the boy and I finally got down to contacting each other with an ancient invention called the telephone.
He said Hi, and all of Microsofts efforts at taking online conversation to the fifth dimension fell flat. Web-camming and MSNs pains with smilies? ...Couldnt live up to the pleasure that hearing his voice brought. (I know, I should get the mic on my cam fixed. Huh.)
I finally got to ask him about the last girl he dated. Apparently he had to tell her to go because he couldnt feel for her as much as she wanted him to. That was two weeks ago. Then I tried to talk to him about my situation, but it didnt work out.
Forget it. You were right. We shouldnt talk about the other people were seeing. Im comfortable with the fact that we are, but Im not at ease talking about it. Does it bother you?
And he tells me something sweet like how it pains him to imagine Im actually sleeping with someone else, but goes on to say that he can understand perfectly.
We talk about the little fantasies we have for ourselves.
Dogs, a couple of kids (Im sure theyll be very pretty), fake fireplaces with sculptures made to look like firewood in them.
I dont usually feel this way with people. Its usually silly to feel this way. All thats rational in you tells you your stupid to believe in anything like that. But I dont care.
And Im not really listening to him. I know what hes saying, but Im not listening.
His voice feels like glass marbles that roll over all of me.
Over my collarbones, my breasts, into my navel and over the hair crowning my kitty. Over my face, the curve of my neck, the insides of my thighs, massaging my feet as they clink against one another.
I have no idea why we never called each other before. Things were probably different a few months back, compared to now. But Im glad we held off. Because even after nearly 8 months, his voice still sounds exactly like how I remembered it, and hearing it makes it as if he were really here.
And I laugh, and he laughs, and its like were playing with the sheets and throwing pillows at each other before we tumble into bed.
Hes gentle, poetic, and secretly romantic (despite the countless number of times I chide him for ruining my fantasies with his skeptical take on romance Wa-hey buster, I give myself enough of that; dont want the help with reality-).
He's promised wed go on a holiday come December.
Well, weve managed it this far. With undulating periods of on and offs no doubt, but its been managed. Im sure something will work itself out.
And if it doesnt, at least it made me feel damn good about everything for awhile.
***
Paper and Clips
Food and Chips
Drinks and Sips
Kisses and Lips
Xoxox
Glass Marbles
I talk about silly things like that over the phone at 45c/minuite.
Lacoste, Jeans, Clean Underwear.
Brown Bikini, Wet Skin, Dirty Tangas.
Tequila shots and DIY bar-tops,
House pours and self-composed Jazz music, produced by unsure fingers that stumble across stained ivory.
***
This evening, after a long while, and a great long while at that, the boy and I finally got down to contacting each other with an ancient invention called the telephone.
He said Hi, and all of Microsofts efforts at taking online conversation to the fifth dimension fell flat. Web-camming and MSNs pains with smilies? ...Couldnt live up to the pleasure that hearing his voice brought. (I know, I should get the mic on my cam fixed. Huh.)
I finally got to ask him about the last girl he dated. Apparently he had to tell her to go because he couldnt feel for her as much as she wanted him to. That was two weeks ago. Then I tried to talk to him about my situation, but it didnt work out.
Forget it. You were right. We shouldnt talk about the other people were seeing. Im comfortable with the fact that we are, but Im not at ease talking about it. Does it bother you?
And he tells me something sweet like how it pains him to imagine Im actually sleeping with someone else, but goes on to say that he can understand perfectly.
We talk about the little fantasies we have for ourselves.
Dogs, a couple of kids (Im sure theyll be very pretty), fake fireplaces with sculptures made to look like firewood in them.
I dont usually feel this way with people. Its usually silly to feel this way. All thats rational in you tells you your stupid to believe in anything like that. But I dont care.
And Im not really listening to him. I know what hes saying, but Im not listening.
His voice feels like glass marbles that roll over all of me.
Over my collarbones, my breasts, into my navel and over the hair crowning my kitty. Over my face, the curve of my neck, the insides of my thighs, massaging my feet as they clink against one another.
I have no idea why we never called each other before. Things were probably different a few months back, compared to now. But Im glad we held off. Because even after nearly 8 months, his voice still sounds exactly like how I remembered it, and hearing it makes it as if he were really here.
And I laugh, and he laughs, and its like were playing with the sheets and throwing pillows at each other before we tumble into bed.
Hes gentle, poetic, and secretly romantic (despite the countless number of times I chide him for ruining my fantasies with his skeptical take on romance Wa-hey buster, I give myself enough of that; dont want the help with reality-).
He's promised wed go on a holiday come December.
Well, weve managed it this far. With undulating periods of on and offs no doubt, but its been managed. Im sure something will work itself out.
And if it doesnt, at least it made me feel damn good about everything for awhile.
***
Paper and Clips
Food and Chips
Drinks and Sips
Kisses and Lips
Xoxox
Your words run, like a glass marble in a box that leaves a trail of paint behind it... like the art we used to make in elementary school, marble paintings... so purely simple, but captivating and poetic in their seeming effortlessness.