Mio Core

I need you, mio core
I run my fingers through
Your glorious swarthy hair
And kiss your savory lips.

I need you, mio core.
Your fingers entwined in mine,
Your bare, sweaty chest
Against mine: hot, and fervent.

I need you, mio core.
You pull me closer, closer
Our legs tangling and hands shaking--
I know you want the same thing I do.

I need you, mio core.
I push you down, slowly, slowly,
Feeling your heat rise against me.
I rest above you,
Pleading for your will.
I want you to fill me.

I need you, mio core.
Crying out as we rivet,
Your nails find a home within my skin.
They dig deeper, deeper.
I'm bleeding.

I need you, mio core.
You gasp and choke
As I suffocate you with my fervor,
Desiring to give you more, more,
To please you enough to the summit--
On both our behalves.

I need you, mio core.
You pull me closer, closer,
And I feel your sweet, hot nectar.
We collapse together in the suits
In which we were born.
Ti amo, mio core.

Cranberry Vodka

I don't know who you are
But something wills me to stay
Maybe it's the alcohol
Maybe it's the pills I took today
Maybe I'm just attracted...
Your nicotine leads to thoughts of sex
As I press my lips to your soft eyelids.
I'm still here and I don't know
Who you are.
Order another cranberry vodka
Another bead across the abacus
Another BAL rise
Your hands are against my thighs
Such a pretty surprise...
I wake as my body rides the motion
Like the car of an old subway train--
The Metro still loud as the last act ends
I can't hear it--
I'm far too intoxicated to realize
My surroundings...
You're inside of me, wishing to
break free, grab another ciagarette--
Leave for another city,
Another night of loud trains and
Sex at the after hours,
Sipping your cranberry vodka
hands against my thighs--
Ah, such a pretty surprise...

Pretty Boy's Grace

Hey pretty boy
Your eyes are on fire
Your cocaine nose
Fills my heart with desire
Touch me softly
Caress my ears
Lick away my insecurity
I'll brandish all your fears

Kiss my eyes
I'll nip your lashes
My liberation mesmerized
My tongue is dulcet
She is your greatest friend
She'll please you gently
Then help you climax at the end.

Hey pretty boy
Would you like to
Smell my hair?
Tangerine Passion
Our fervency is everywhere
Inside, outside
On top or below
One fuck, one body
And in my blood she'll grow.

Kiss my belly,
Your blood has filled
My growing womb.
Listen there, pretty boy,
Do you hear her heart,
Does it bring you gloom?
Our libations brought us
To this place,
so save us, Lord
Should she defy thy blessed
Grace.

Love, love, love...

Love is just a sweet biological fraud concocted to keep the species going. Even so, we can't seem to stop searching for it. What a cruel thing to have embedded in one's DNA, this psychological farce that draws us to constantly get our hopes up just to be torn to pieces. Isn't Darwinism enough? Why must we continuously torment ourselves with the need to feel? Animals don't need to feel. They simply mate, spread the seed, and keep the race going. Some of that has translated into human behavior. After all, how else would you explain having five babie daddies? It seems we use the emotional factor of "love" to simply set ourselves above the animal kingdom. Without it, wouldn't we just be animals?

It must be nice to be a mole and not have to worry about any other mole breaking your heart, or if he's going to call because it's been more than two days, or if taking her to dinner was really worth the quarter of your paycheck it cost to impress her. Sometimes, it seems like animals haev really got it made. No committment, no ties, no divorce court or child support, just fuck and forget, you've done your dues for the race. Sometimes, you don't even have to worry about the offspring's welfare. Once you've spawned, your mama's gone, and you're either going to have to learn to fend for yourself or die. How much easier could it get?

It's been said that emotions make us human, but even some of us are still not capable of showing them. I can't tell you how many men I've been head over heels for that I've bitterly poked and prodded to illicit so much as a facial expression from them. What I can tell you is how much I've personally utilized a similar tactic myself in the rough and tumble dating world. It's called "The Wall." The Wall is utilized when I first begin to date a man, as not to allow my full emotional rollercoaster to leak through. It is a deceptive device used to hook a man, by pretending you don't care, aren't that interested, and aren't the crazy, emotional gal who really, really hopes to fall in love with him. A couple of months pass, and if the guy's still around, the Wall starts to crumble, and all those emotions I forced myself to bury come pouring out in a frenzy. This typically results in the guy running for his life, as far away from me as he can get. It is a failed defense mechanism that almost never works, yet I've seen so many women (and men!) use it in the beginning stages of a relationship.

Why are we torturing ourselves so exquisitely? Why do we fear our emotions so greatly that we can't even convey them to another human being, who obviously possesses them as well, otherwise they wouldn't be trying to date, right? The truth is, whether or not you would willing admit it, we are all looking for exactly the same thing.

Since this is the case, why is it damn near impossible to find someone with whom to share that thing? At our core, we are all wired the same way. We have been built in a manner than forces us, consciously or not, to recognize a need to feel. We are unique in that one simply manufacturing. We need to feel wanted, we need to feel a sense of belonging. We are not so basal and animalistic as to solely require physiological needs in order to function. Maslow wasn't smoking dope when he came up with the Hierarchy of Needs. He knew very well just how imperative all of those psychological factors were to creat a complete human being. Any time one of those psychological needs is not met, we are reduced to our basal, physiological needs, throwing balance off of our human definition. This only accentuates how crucial emotions are to our completion.

So, why the never-ending quest for the unobtainable love? We're wired to desire it, regardless of how much one may suppress it. He who denies love the greatest seeks it the most. He is trouble and tormented to deny that which we alone as humans are designed to experience. Unfortunately, such a wonderful thing often comes with a terrible price. One must be willing to become vulnerable and open to the possibility of being wounded in order to obtain it. It is our greatest source of pleasure and our greatest source of pain, yet we alone are capable of feeling it.


That being said, no matter how bitter I get, no matter how calloused my heart has grown because of its misuse and overuse by equally uncertain men, I desire nothing more than to find that special, emotional bond that only human beings can experience. I want to love and be loved, and I'll stop at nothing to obtain it. You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one, for in our greatest pain and suffering, in our most bitter anger and spite, in our denial and rejection of it, love is all we need and crave. It is the key to completion as a human being. Without it, we are animals. Without out, we are nothing.

Dear Boy who is tormenting my heart and mind...

I'm seriously so unbelievably frustrated right now and I cannot tolerate it any longer! For the love of God, or whatever's up there, can we please just define this bullshit disaster as boyfriend/girlfriend? I want a relationship with you, damn it. A REAL relationship. No more dicking around, no more horseplay.

So, let's stop playing games. Let's do this. I'm in. I hope you are, too.

Neurosis Strikes Again.

I have officially crossed into the darkness; into the cold, agonizing world I tried so desperately to avoid all together. I can't convey to you just how much I fought this from occuring; however, as always, my tactics in the art of love and war have failed. My emotions have forced me to forfeit the battle between my heart and my mind, and, of course, logic has failed to prevail once again.

I am far too much of an emotional being to continue my charade. Assuredly, my moment of glory has been had, and I am no longer capable of hiding that which I have so greatly strived to bury and suffocate.

It has been said, "pain is weakness leaving the body." If this is so, I should be much stronger than I am now. Perhaps it only refers to physical pain, and not that which can cause so much detriment to an individual's psyche. My heart is in a state of turmoil I have very little chance of escaping. There is but one cure for it, and that cure looks to be as unobtainable and unfathomable as the cures for cancer or AIDS.

This morning, I called my mother in hysterics. I could not understand how I had let myself fall into the same disastrous patterns of romance that I always do. I could hardly breathe due to the uncontrollable crying, thereby hyperventilating.
"I didn't want this. I hate this," I said, confessing my latest epiphany regarding the so-called 'relationship' in which I have been involved for the past two months.
"I'm too far gone, it's too late," I confessed, more terrified than I've been in ages. She assured me that all would be well, and for me to spend the day trying to make new friends and meet new people. New potential prospects? Was she mad? She could not possibly know the vehemance or fervency with which I know found myself so troubled for this amazing individual.

I spent the remainder of the morning toiling with outbursts of tantrums and tears, letting my neuroses take full hold of me. I cleaned everything, straightened everything, moved furniture around, threw things away and down the trash chute. I played the saddest songs about love, empathizing with each of them, feeling and wishing as though I had been the creative being to have borne them first.

Somehow, I managed to calm myself just enough to shower, dress, and walk to the bookstore, where I would further fuel my obsessive thoughts and anxiety about this individual I so perilously desired to let me into his heart and make me his. I had already made the mistake to allow him into mine, and, should he say the word, would leap at the opportunity to be his. I sat and read again the story he had once instructed me to read, as he claimed it to be 'the story of his life.' I yearned to be close to him, and would stop at nothing to understand and ameliorate any pain from which he suffered, to offer my ear to his words, or my arms for his comfort, my joy for his sorrow.

The sun shone brightly before I had entered the bookstore and sat down to read this so-called 'life story' with which the boy I'd fallen so dangerously in love with had empathized. I closed the book upon completion of the last page and found that rain poured down just outside. I sighed to myself, feeling slightly better upon reading this intense tale once again, and placed the book back in its proper place upon the shelf. I ran back to my apartment in the heavy rain, a newspaper my only shield from it.

As soon as I entered my apartment, I flung myself onto my bed and felt my very own waterworks starting to pour. What was wrong with me? Why was I allowing myself to be so consumed by something that, only a short time ago, felt so free and simple and easy? How was it that I could not return to that state of sheer complacency that he once offered me without even being around?

It had been three days since I'd seen him last. We'd spoken, of course, on a constant and daily basis, but all plans made fell through and did not happen. I found myself alone and pining for him. I ached to be held, to be touched, to be kissed, to simply be in his presence would have been enough. Sex was never just sex for me when it came to him. There was a passion I bore for him that could not and would not be explained logically. It just was, it just existed. I felt so incredibly safe and at home with him, unafraid of myself or what was to come, never doubting, never fearing. What had changed in this brief absence?

It was late last night when I stumbled upon this epiphany. I began to wail and sob like an infant, holding myself as tightly as I possibly could because I had no one there to do it for me. I had denied every romantic thought I possibly could involving him to avoid being hurt again, and in doing so, allowed all that emotion to well up inside until it simply exploded out of me. It is how I came to love so intensely, and always has been. It creates a hunger that cannot be sufficed, a yearning that cannot be satiated, a passion so great, it knows no bounds. I have yet to find a man capable of handling a connection so powerful, let alone a twenty-two year-old boy.

The storm outside is beginning to abate, but the one I now harbor has just begun. I know not where to turn or what to do. My one hope is to let the Universe drive and pray that perhaps he will one day feel so boldly for me, his ever-waiting, ever-willing mistress.

Next part of my N-I-P

Three Am - the so-called Devil's hour. The bars had closed their once welcoming doors, forcing their inhabitants to roam the streets, innebriated, with bellies grumbling for salvation. We walked hand-in-hand along the Avenue, an anomaly untouched by the raucous of the night's iniquities. He grasped me tightly, as if to claim me as his own, as if to protect me from the beasts that ran betwixt us.

The lights seemed to burn out one by one as we passed them, announcing that the end had come, and no more life would be found there that evening. How strange, it seemed, that a place once so teeming with life before two AM could so easily transform into a cemetery.

I held onto him ever so tightly, occasionally offering a casual, heartfelt glance up at him, yet his eyes remained focused on the path head. No drunken hub bub of those around us, nor the passion I so greatly attempted to convey could tear him from his mission to get us home safely.

We made our way to the car and he cautiously unlatched his iron grip on me, keeping a careful eye on the surrounding company as he opened the door to let me in. As soon as I had settled, he closed me inside the evening's stage coach and took his own place. He stared foreward, watching the pandemonium unravel before our very eyes. I turned and looked at him, smiling, and laid my hand gently on his forearm.
"Now what?" I asked.

He did not look at me, but simply kept his sight on the parade of intoxication just outside our safe haven.
"I don't know. Want to go to go the diner?"
My smile broadened.
"You're right on my wavelength."
"Yeah...wavelength."

And then, without warning he turned abruptly to face me and pulled me into his arms, kissing me with such a magnificent fervor I felt time itself cease to exist. How could I have been so exceptionally fortuitous as to have found a male counterpart whose lips fit so perfectly with mine? Whose rhythm and syntax and dissonance all blended so exquisitely to the language of lovers I thought only I knew, natively? I allowed my fingers to roam the roots of his hair as his roamed the contours of my frame. In truth, I could have spent the remainder of my lifetime locked inside a car at 3AM, kissing him as barflies hollered, hooped, and banged on the windows outside our precious, encased, little world. But perhaps that's what made it so - it was ours.

The time-space continuum returned to its equillibrium the moment his lips parted mine. I felt myself gasping, unaccustomed to breathing the air of this unfamiliar world I'd managed to escape in that fantastic, brief moment. He turned the key in the ignition and started the car. We sat another moment in silence, watching the late night entertainment. He yawned, made a silly, cock-eyed face then took hold of the wheel. He glanced over at me.
"So, whaddya say, kid?"
I smiled,
"Let's go."
"Okay."

He shifted and we crossed the double lines. I watched the rain fall down in the darkness as we headed towards the next part of our night's adventure. Once in a while, he'd reach over and squeeze my thigh, then I'd do the same to him. We made our way out of the city, where all now lay dead and sleeping, and journeyed to the prime source of our drowsy, sleepless mornings - Valentino's.

By the time we'd finished there, I was certain the birds would be chirping, the paper would be delivered, and I'd need several very strong cups of coffee in order to maintain some level of efficiency in the work place. Exhausting? Of course. Worth every minute? You better believe it, sugar.

Groceries

This is part of a series of vignettes I did a couple years ago. I've yet to finish the series...

It always rains in England; sometimes hard, sometimes just a drizzle. Somehow, though, it always managed to pour every time John and I needed to go to the grocery and actually had the money to do so. So, as wet dogs, we would rush down the street, trying to beat the rain just enough to get back to the flat without ruining the food.

We had just finished running up and down the aisles at the local Shoppi, just down the road from our flat. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough money to pay for all that we were going to buy, so John told me he'd put back some of the things.

Well, I purchased our groceries and John came back over, moments later.
"Let's go." He demanded, which caused me to raise a brow.
"Bag these groceries, then," I instructed, but John just shook his head.
"I can't. Christ, Flora, hurry up."
I did not catch on to waht he meant, but did as he instructed anyway. The whole time, he stood there, furiously tapping his foot and looking around.
"Come on, Johnny," I encouraged, tugging at his sleeve.
"Don't!" He snapped then looked around a bit more, "Come on, come on! Let's go!" He rushed out the door and into the rain. I followed him, wondering how serious wet groceries could possibly be to him considering we'd eaten much worse in better times.

After making it back to the flat, completely out of breath, John jumped up and down.
"Come on, come on, Fidget! Open the door!"
"Shut up, John. I've got to get the key out first. What's the big rush?"
"Just open the pissing door!" he shreiked.

I could have been quite the evil cunt and kept him waiting, but instead, I opened the door with haste. The moment we were both inside and the door had closed, John sighed with great relief.
"Thank Christ." he cried and let his arms fall to his sides, releasing all the groceries we hadn't had the money to buy from his shirt and jacket. "Whoops." he stated, unconvincingly with a sly grin on his face. My jaw dropped.
"Holy shit, Snags!" I yelped.
"Dinner's on me tonight, huh, Fidge?"
"You crazy fuck!" I cried and pushed him to the couch. He laughed and grabbed me, taking me with him and smothering me in kisses. I battled to break free from him, but he knew that I really didn't want him to let go.
"You think I'm the greatest. Admit it. Ad-fucking-mit it and I'll let go!"
"No!" I snapped, struggling against him, but he just laughed and shoved me off of the couch then stretched out like a king.
"I win, again!" he cheered, pleased as pie with himself. I shook my head and pulled him to the floor with me.
"The lady always wins, John. Unwritten rule."

He let his crooked teeth shine through in a queer smile and shook his head,
"Some lady." He sneered and I shoved him.
"Jackass, I'm royalty." this widened his crooked grin.
"Oh, yes, I keep forgetting."
I fought a smile and rose from the floor to put away the groceries.
"Come on, help me with these, please."
John groaned and got up then started to rummage through the bags.

"Aha!" he shouted after finding a loaf of bread.
"What?" I asked, turning to face him. He grinned broadly and called me over to him with his finger.
"I've got something for you."
I raised a brow, put down a package of noodles, and went over to him.
John had that silly grin plastered to his face as he opened the bread, grabbed my left hand, and wrapped the twist-tie from the bread package around my ring finger. I looked down, utterly confused.
"What's this thing on my finger?" I asked him as he went back to putting away the groceries.
"It's an engagement ring."
I looked at him, appalled.
"John! It's a fucking twist-tie!"
"Yeah, well, count your blessings. I got our groceries and your ring in one stop to the store. Now we're fucking broke. But it's lovely, isn't it?"
I shook my head and moved my hand back and forth.
"Oh, yes. I just love how the wire glitters in the lamplight." I leered. John dropped the groceries and howled.
"And it's fucking adjustable! So if you start to get sausage fingers, it's no loss to my bank account."
I made a face at his words.
"How the piss can I get sausage fingers if we live off of bread and water? Christ, Johnny, it's like we're in prison." I retorted.

John just smiled and wrapped his arms around my middle, pulling my backside against his pelvis.
"Yeah," he began in a husky whisper, "but at least when I bend you over and shag you senseless, it's consensual."
His lips trailed down my neck causing me to shiver deliciously. I dropped the groceries in my hand and sank onto the couch, taking John with me.

I'll be damned if that man didn't win me over every time he tried.

First bits and pieces for my N-I-P

Bumbling drunks, insomniacs, tortured artists, honey, I've done seen 'em all. I was dating the kind of boy you only see on silver screens - tall, dark, and handsome, but not lacking his own fair share of oddities. I, myself, was no Stable Mable. Lithium, sleeping pills, body dysmorphia, and a drinking problem to boot, but, boy, did I have a set of gams on me. We'd meet in the dead of night, when the loneliness hit its hardest. Every normal, working person lay wrapped beneath the sheets in slumber, but not the two of us.

He was the kind of fantastic being that fully concurred with my belief that coffee shops shouldn't close at 10pm. How dare they be so callous as to deny us our late-night fix of caffeination.

"Hello?"
"Well, hello, lover."
"What are you up to?"
"Oh, nothing, just coming to see you."
"Really? At such an hour?"
"Would you have it any other way?"
I smiled to myself,
"No," I replied, "of course not. Although, I'm really starting to believe you're a vampire."
"Yeah? A vampire? Why's that?"
"'Cuz I never see you during the day."

I stood beneath the cherry tress that cool spring night, bathed in the light of the moon, tapping my toes with furious impatience. Once and again, a man would pass me by and comment on my eyes, my legs, my lips, but I ignored them all. In truth, all of those were solely on reserve for the gentleman en route.

The city breeze chilled me to the core, and my wiry limbs trembled for homeostasis. I glanced at the time. Late. Always so late. The boy couldn't even be on time for his own funeral, I was certain of it. Still, something about him forced me to forgive his constant strain of faux pas. Frankly, I could never resist him, regardless of anything he did at any moment to unhinge me. How he'd come to possess that power over me, I will never know.

I turned to walk back into my stone fortress, but just as I did, I heard a man clear his throat. I looked back and saw him there in all his glory, standing by the side of the car, passenger door opened, and waiting for me. I couldn't resist the urge to smile.
"Aren't you something," I said, slinking over and sliding inside. He shrugged.
"I guess."
He closed the door once I'd settled myself and walked aorund to take his seat.
"And where are we going tonight?" I asked.
He shrugged once more, staring ahead and picking the dry skin from his perfect lips.
"I don't know. Just drive around, I guess."
"Do you ever know?"
"No."
He peeled out and we began that night's journey.

A Foreward to my so-called Novel-in-progress

I got off of the bus yesterday evening and began the short walk through the rain to get to my apartment building. While en route, the idea just popped into my head. I'd be damned if I didn't and damned if I did, but I decided to write the Great American Novel - after all, the Great God of Literacy had thrown that absurd epiphany into my skull. How dare I be so bold as to defy His will!

Now that I had reached the conclusion that writing this epic, prolific, life-altering story was not only my goal, but my prerogative in life, I began wondering what the topic could possibly entail. A passionate, gruesome battle? A love story to put even Romeo and Juliet to shame? A fantastic journey to far away lands?

Just as I slid my key into the door lock, it hit me; two schmucks sitting in a diner at 3am, smoking, sipping coffee, shooting the shit. As I walked into the foyer and called the elevator, I wondered how in the hell I'd come up with something so horrifically mundane as the subject of my epic, prolific, life-altering, Great American Novel. The elevator door opened and I looked up to the Heavens, or rather, the asbestos ceilings that blocked my view of them, and questioned my choice to the Great God of Literacy.

The elevator door slammed as I debated this decision, and no matter how much I called for one, another did not arrive. I walked toward the staircase and opened the door to begin my journey upward. Apparently, offending the Great God of Literacy is a terrible atrocity. I placed my foot uopn the first stair to begin my climb, now starting to reconsider my change of heart regarding the story's topic. The moment I geared my mind back toward that silly, mundane idea of the two schmucks in the diner, the elevator door flew open with a loud crash and DING! I turned, signed, and said to the God,

"Well, if that's what You want, so be it. I'll write that novel."

The elevator dinged three times, as if to bid me to make haste, but to what? I walked over to it and entered, carefully pressing the button to my floor as the door closed. I may have only been three floors up, but I was in for a very, very long ride.

Seeking...

It's been bottled up for quite some time, these emotions that I harbor. And though I wish I could deny it, I'm green with envy's stain. I see the way they all interact, and I want to taste it -- with you.

I don't know how I can possibly tell you the things I would potentially want to have with you without scaring you away from me. Just now, I feel I have finally reached you in the manner I've hoped to for so long, but it isn't enough. I long for clarity. I long for definition. I long for the opportunity to wake with you, to touch as we have touched, to kiss as we have kissed, to make love without the fear of being wasted and forgotten the next night.

Is it so wrong of me to feel these things? Is it so wrong of me to crave them? To constantly desire them more than anything? I try to tell myself not to let it happen, not to let the emotions build, but you make it increasingly difficult. The more I encounter you, the deeper I sink into you, the more trouble I cause for myself.

You know not how you draw me. You know not how much unrest you cause me. I fear you more than anything, because even though I know far well that I own the keys to these gates, you are completely capable of breaking them down and stealing what you wish from my gardens without any remorse or second thoughts. You have the power to leave me bare and empty, but I am hoping you will not. I am hoping that perhaps you will feel as I feel. Perhaps, you will be drawn as I am drawn, that you will long to touch, and to kiss. To make love and wake in the glory of one another's presence.

I cannot read you. I wouldn't dare dream of it because I fear it so greatly. So, here I sit in my silence and pray for you to take action; for you to take me as your woman, so that I may have you as my man. Proclaim that you want me, and I will never do you wrong.

There is nothing left to say. If you should come across this, I do not know if you will know it is for you. I hope, and fear, that you will realize this. That I want you something terrible. That I miss you when I don't have you around. That I crave you and ache for you and think of you too much for my own good. If I have not startled you, or frightened you, should you have figured out this is for you, please tell me what this is. Tell me what we are. Tell me what we could be, what you want us to be. For my part, the answers are plainly written here.

I want to be more than just mud in your eyes. I want to be the clay in your hands.

The Scent of His Pillow

And, oh, how I yearn to breathe it in - the scent of his pillow, where his sweet head has laid to rest. Dearest, you revive the life in my sullen bones. The soft hush of your little nothings whisks me to sheer complacency, where I am one with you.

I find that none can compare to the beauty of this; of his melodic tongue, of his skillful hand, of his radiant mind, of his pure urgency to claim me as his own. My darling, you know far well that I belong to no other.

I close my eyes as Morpheus greets me with embrace. I see you, beside me; hands linked, hearts full. We lay as one unit, enveloped in the delight of one another, sharing that pillow. One. For glory, my love, one.

Make me your home. I take pleasure in the thought of holding you day upon day upon day. For there is none that can compare to the beauty of this; of his words, of his touch, of his spirit, of his kiss.