the autumn ocean

i started today with a love story i ended today with a love story what happened in between wasn't one.

tension is all the words i don't want to say to myself, or to you. i make you happy, and you make me content. an astrologer told me i won't have the love story i yearn for and that's alright, isn't it? isn't this enough? we aren't made of romantic moments. i don't even know what romance is. the flirting, the intimacy, the kissing we have one out of the three. isn't this enough? i've had the static shock, i've had the lightning from a clear sky moment. it wasn't enough. it didn't last. when the rains came, everything we were washed away clean. i can squeal about cute moments in other people easily enough, though. i meander around, but i come back to you.

i know how love stories end, and how they stumble. so I avoid the pitfalls. And because you're not like the romance protagonists the detours work.

there is an inevitability, it feels like, to our happy ending. so.... isn't it enough?

people come and people go; water on the riverside flows downhill returning to the clouds as autumn rain. stories pass in currents and eddies containing people in them, etched in an echo

Time and time again, I keep making mistakes when I type. Misfires, legends and things, my brain firing to create false words. Some kind of hallucination, I don't doubt, where there is words in my brain but also words in my fingers, and nothing ever comes of it except mistake after misfiring mistake.

I need typing exercises, I think, because I need to correct the way I talk, the way my hands move in preternatural patterns, misfired patterns of a memoried and storied time; writing is different but my brain races ahead of my fingers, the patterns that writing causes make a sad mistake. The last finger on my left hand misfires and types aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa like crazy, the fingers play like a sad instrument that sadly doesn't make for good stenography. Brain rushing ahead, it's like meditation, it's like writing a 1000 words on a sad instrument that plays into the far off land. Can we call a doctor for my hands? Can we call a doctor for my brain? What do I need to practice to straighten it out? Call it like dogs on a treadmill, racing endlessly, musical scales for a half-churned throat, bread and dough and kneading, and needing what it needs.

Welcome back to the half-turned rhymes and mistakes endlessly meandering in my brain, a meditation I don't know where I begin and when I end, nothing is too safe and everything is too broken to begin again. An endless repetition and return of remembrance and memories like meditation and like flowing and like over and over and over again, contemplations and reclamations and carnations and coronations and I am just writing because I can write, I'm just typing because I can type, and nobody reads and nobody sees this.

How many ghosts are there in a barn full of ennui? How many apathetic people live in periodic glimmers of attention in a small blog on a bot-filled corner of the internet? How many real people are left in the numbers gathered here? A pool of stagnant water, a puddle of muddy glimmers where once I was serious and once I was real.

How much of me is real? How much of me is forgotten? How much of me is sandstone turned into rock into sand into a slush-filled dream of a butterfly dreaming he is a man? I never read that book, I never made that connection, I never inspired that imagination nor did that imagination inspire me.

How many times have I done something worth writing about? How many times has my brain misfired and created something that falls apart into mechanical tick-tock wires? How many times have I become someone worth knowing and worth remembering and how many times is the melancholy bled from my bones and leeched out to others?

i look out at the sunrise and i think, "i'm going out for a walk to-day" my feet will hurt, my calves will burn but i'm going out for a walk to-day. i wonder what thoughts i will think if i go out for a walk to-day. like dust motes lifting in a dance on wooden floor-boards they crown a shaft of sun-light, spiraling 'round the ray.

i always finish these walks thinking-- what a great time i've had to-day. let's do it tomorrow, let's go for a walk out for a walk to-day.

--i said that yesterday and the day before and the day before that, and before.

i got so good at losing i never got better at winning. giving up is easier than fighting of course the media lies and says they got no other choice that's a hero and i'm no hero.

the media resurrects all the things i tell myself love is work and love is a choice i keep making the romance they teach is abuse they don't teach me how to love myself. i am so good at losing, i lose myself.

in this decade we are all fire and earth the heat comes to volcanoes and the volcanoes come to the sun in this decade i am all earth stagnant and muddy, dirty and fallow too wet for soil, too dry for mangroves i put my roots down into stagnancy but i gotta grow

blockages, black and tar-like i keep wanting to find words to say but there are none coming

cry, tears: washing down into the pit of my heart in the cold they come away clean.

it's like if the wall could break down then every brick is a sentence flooding faster and faster until it is every anguish i cannot say

cry, tears: pooling in the pit of my heart in the cold, it comes away clean.

i am not in a pit, i am not living in a street of grey the gate is wide open, the door ajar. the days stretch long but i am content here.

the whole world's ending, folks' con descending draft your picks cuz the blood banks is due go on whistling, it's all befitting got a strap for you and me too

it's gon' be war between us red on red and blue on blue on blue but i'm tired, when you're defiant how's we gonna fight when it blows up in truth?

i chose the middle, symphon' riddle bats at men and pipes at reveal take a little, break in scenes til i immobilize my straining steel

messin' up--- in the south china sea put up the pressure like your dukes when ya cosign to co-send me square up the cosine like a false flag sting i'm pythagoras, gonna bite your cobra back, king you won't rattle or rout past me you won't battle nor outlast me i'm gonna share with the world the whole dopamine reel if you tick off the tos box you'll be tossed in the ring so go on and dance, motherfucker, dance, motherfucker, you put a snake on a plane i'mma make it eat its own tail i am become death, i am life after it all ends here

it's gon' be war---- between us red on red and blue on blue on blue but i'm tired, when you're defiant how's we gonna fight when it blows up in truth?

i got no answers, the puppetmasters worn out the lines on the lies movin' our holes dance lil puppets, they're at the pulpits throwing whine til we're all gaspin' for dough ain't no god--- but the one in their bank idols we got triers who are poor but the criers got their spurs got the blinders on the horse and we're drinking cuz we're dying they beat us til we looked it in the mouth and all it's saying is it's lying

it's gon' be war---- between us red on red and blue on blue on blue but i'm tired, when you're defiant how's we gonna fight when it blows up in truth?

i wanna tell you to wake up and don't hit the snooze don't bury the alarm clock in hookers, hail and booze like, I get it all we're doing is runnin' round in spheres like the best we gonna do is tell the world we was here like i wanna go to fight but the iceberg's near satanic the best thing they never did was tell the world they never made it alone, cuz the dream is zombies now man, if it was ever preserved careful the only rule we got now is cardio cuz we running on a treadmill we going nowhere fast, we zooming at a standstill

it's gon' be war---- between us red on red and blue on blue on blue but i'm tired, when you're defiant how's we gonna fight when it kicks off in truth?

you divest yourself of your clothing before me stepping eagerly and tentatively out of each lace and button; the polyester and the silk the wool and the cotton.

You ease out of your dress - your shirt - your blouse - to reveal your perfect body; you fit so exactly against me. You are enough. You are enough.

The clothing rustles as it falls to the floor. And you are sexy. You shake your head at me, not quite capable of loving yourself yet so let me be the person that is more than capable of loving *you*...

Seeing in you the beauty that you deny exists within you.

The butterfly - the protective dragon - the richness of sunset gold - the forget-me-nots in the meadow. You call me Daddy - Master - Sir - lover; to reveal your vulnerabiliity and give up your control. And I will take it from you as gently as I would handle precious jade and original manuscripts your control is precious to me. As are you. Even if you doubt yourself, and you doubt that anyone could love you the way you want to be loved... I am here and I will try... if I don't succeed the first time.

You advance on me step by step placing each foot delicately and carefully shy - aware - sultry - tempting... in your power... in your femininity, in your masculinity;

And when at last you reach the end of your strength and I can see you start to panic and worry - I reach out to catch you.

You fall into my arms - You fall into my heart - You fall into my lap and onto my cock.

I am not here to punish I am here to reward Because you have been so good, so brave, so strong. For me. Stripping for me - walking to me - exposing yourself to me;

do i make you blush, beautiful one? have i made your heart race and your breaths come shallow?

for you do to me. do i make you blush, gorgeous one? i want to with my fingers trace your every valley and hill that reddens. i want to wallow

in the sticky summer i am undone; your eyes on me are enough to undo me. i fall apart under your gaze, being revealed

to my very inner core.

and my inner core is this: i will take you apart in the same way as you make me fall apart; with my fingers and my tongue and my eyes on you

until you are breathless and separate from this world - floating high above it. while i am beneath you

you dress with such complexity that i can scarce undo you; within your clothing is and are your armor. i want to go beneath that armor and press up against you, skirting the edge of sensibility and responsibility. beneath your public face is your private face and the things which make you spark. beneath your beauty are the things which make you electric. and surprise, i want to see you,

my squeaky little mouse; i want to see you. you seduce me with your complexities, and you entice me with your simplicities.

all i want to do is to choose you over and over and over, if it means i get to understand you inside and out one hundred thousand percent,

until you become a part of me and i become a part of you. until your name and my name are so closely intertwined that mentioning me brings up you and mentioning you

brings up me. until you and i are so closely intertwined you cannot tell where i begin and you end

and you need dress with even more complexity except for where i am with you one straight lightning bolt to what makes you paralyzed

with arousal.

i have built myself up for you in the reflections of mirror-gems; in every mirror, every doorway, every droplet of every rainshower.

one glimpse at you, to spark your attention and your want, your longing for me - and then away do you hear my laughter?

i want my voice to lure you and for you to chase me. a flash of skirt at the corner of your eye. easing past the crowds of people and slipping between them

(like how you could slip between my legs and take me) will you chase me down alleys and across streets and through doors marked with 'only authorized personnel'?

i promise, if you can catch me, i will give myself to you. but only if you can catch me,

and i am a lady who will only be caught if you can convince me you are worth my time.

i am in the corner of your eye and in the corner of your thoughts: every seven seconds, a flash of something -

peeking out from under my skirt. am i wearing what you love, or am i wearing nothing at all? catch me, and you can find out. you can run your hand along my slit and explore all my hidden places

and i will let you do so in broad daylight, but only if you catch me. only if you catch me, and hold me close, and tell me all the secrets i have built up for you

for you to expose and to find out like the way your hands creep up my skirt and - oops, have i said too much already? well, there's a hint.

which you can only turn into reality

will you teach me, beautiful? lying awake with you, your hair pooled on the pillow - how to speak in tongues; your tongue, my tongue entwined until my tongue is still trying to chase yours; i want to hear your wordless cry out in the night beneath the bedsheets with your legs spreading for me

Acostado a tu lado, tu pelo sobre la almohada Cómo hablar en otras lenguas; tu lengua, mi lengua Enredadas hasta que mi lengua sigue intentando cazar la tuya. Quiero oír tu llanto sin palabras, de noche, bajo las sábanas. Con tus piernas abriéndose para mí. between your legs, the summer sunset awaits; warm and wet with the first relief of the rains to come; it is as beautiful as you are. i want to hear your gasps and moans patter against me and above me like rain against glass. you are safe with me as always. Entre tus piernas un atardecer de verano aguarda Cálido y húmedo con el primer alivio de las lluvias que vendrán. Tan bella como tu eres. Quiero oír tus jadeos y tus gemidos contra mí y sobre mi como la lluvia contra el cristal. Estás segura conmigo como siempre.

will you teach me, beautiful? your tongue paints words onto my skin; but i will one by one take those words away from you until the only word that you recall how to cry out is my name; and you will remember the shape and sound of yours because i will gasp your name into your sunset; the sound of our names, together, and God's - on your tongue, on my tongue,

chasing each other.