Originally Uploaded here
It was slow building, this one. Drunk and migraine, sleep, drunk again, sleep, wedding, and NOW the hangover hits? I suppose it makes sense, in a strange way...
I love the way you speak and what you say. I love the meter of your words. I love the flow of your thoughts. I love how you devour everything I say, and come back with more. We avoid the rough spots, but I crave, scrape, and demand as much attention from you every time we interact. Thankfully, everyone seems to be a good sport about it all.
You, you I doubted. I paused and slid back, I judged you by the cadence of your words and the inclinations you wore on your sleeve. I was harsh, uncompromising, even when it seemed my words pricked or slid under your skin. I didn't restrain the bile or the self-righteousness. And you absorbed it, processed it, and then slowly wore outwards with your replies. It was fascinating, impressive, and completely captivating as your incredibly sound interpretations and reinterpretations slowly flowed out from you, shaping the conversation like the ocean shapes the coast-line. By the end I was simply captivated, and wanted to simply ask you in. Your brain is sexy, let's fuck.
Come now, of course I didn't.
Written On: Home Computer