thoughtsonthebus

15 stops. 40 minutes. each day.

Month: May, 2014

last

last night was different.

new.

Sure, I’ve been to your house before,

but this time

I was different.

my shoulders dropped,

my breathing calm,

until it wasn’t.. 😉

more willing to be present

I submitted to it

no judgement, no modus operandi

just a meeting of kind souls

desiring a human touch.

my brain shut down

when you kissed me

arms wrapped in the red light

tattoo’s and skin and smiles and

oh my god, your arms.

strong, and warm, and soft,

behind my lower back as I arch.

I’ve been having delicious, secret-smile, flashbacks

all.morning.long

You’ve gotta love a friday that starts as such 😉

with words

concrete walls bear words by

permanent markers marking time

of when you were present.

 

these are not four walls

but a cube of second skin

this sheltered silence

so often indulged.

 

This isn’t just my home

it’s our home

every.single.one

of you that’s graced

my house with your presence

my kitchen with your cooking

my pillows with your rhythmic breathing

my skin with your…

 

Alone now, but not always.

A different story, a different name.

I’ve walked these boards

a thousand times

and when they bring in the wrecking ball

those words will explode into the air as dust

indistinguishable from the kitchen sink.

 

my wild animal friends – your trees, your shelter.

I’m so sorry.

I can move , have to, move house.

They will watch their home turned to concrete,

With words by permanent markers forever lost.

writing wall

I finally became myself here x

Should.

Should I stay?

Should I stray?

Direction should show me the way

yet paths I do not take

still unsure by what’s at stake

leave me confused in your wake.

 

Do you know?

How the desire on your face shows?

or not the desire per se

it’s not specific you see

More like intrigue, mixed with love

now to think of a good word to rhyme with love.

nah.

 

Really,

all i just want to say

is one.day

we’ll need to come clean

with these feelings, not real yet a dream

for the truth

it deserves to be seen.

slowly slowly

I’m sick of fucking slowly slowly

I’m also sick of moving faster than a speeding train.

Middle ground.

ground.

grounded.

I guess it’s the same as grey. It’s not black, not white

it’s a melding of the two.

Is “middle” a melding of fast and slow?

not really..

it’s more an acknowledgement of the fast

with a conscious effort to slow down.

Either way,

either i’m moving too fast, and your moving too slow

or this is middle ground,

ground

grounded to grey.

 

 

Like you

Trying to find a good man to spend quality time with

and all i’m wondering is if he’ll slap my arse like you did.

Like you.

Something new, yet older and never anticpated.

crazy times call for crazy stories

and we all know that what goes on tour

stays there.

But not when you see it come through the door everyday.

you didn’t stay on tour, and neither did I.

We both came back home,

and now Monday to Friday I see you.

Cheeky smiles are painted across our faces

knowing

oh hell yeah.

we know.

raincheck.