Friday, November 2, 2007


How badly I wanted to lie with you on a beach in Capitola.
How fast my heart sped as I watched you yawn.
For too long I wondered how your skin would feel against mine.
Too much time spent wishing I could touch your hand, taste your lips, hear your breathing in my ear.
Somehow a lie fixes everything.
For some reason unbeknown to me, all is repressed.
Complaints gone.
Unease away.
And all there is
is you
Lying on our own pastoral beach.

(I thought I'd take a stab at poetry.)

forever yours, November on

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