Musings of a Butterfly

Afternoon Mimosas. Deep ambient rhythm on the Bose Ran out of cigarettes Want to smoke But want to quit What to do? Don't feel like walking down the hill And then up the hill And then up the stairs Puffing and panting, wishing That I had quit already.

Connecting, like magnets on that first night She hesitates; the last Bart train leaving the platform, Not wanting to leave his side First kiss, on the platform; holding on “Don’t leave me,” she thinks, “I don’t want to,” he thinks. They end up at the Holiday Inn The night, full of their desire Beautiful, endless, beautiful, Holding on. Holding on. In the bathtub, he holds her, caresses her, kisses her, Washes her, pushes her hair out of her eyes. Wet silence in the night, broken by little droplets of water when they move. Making love, endlessly, passionately. All throughout the night. In the morning they dress. She smokes a cigarette on the balcony As they watch the morning begin on the noisy city street below They go for coffee, The passion and desire of the night still fresh When her eyes lock with his, she has to look away His eyes bore into her soul, she thinks he can see her from the inside out Several rendezvous ensue. A...

You see her, walking down the street. Mumbling to herself, pushing the shopping cart Wild, dirty hair; yellow fingernails, missing teeth You don't want to look at her because you are afraid Of the truth and the sadness behind her eyes You don't want to take the time to ask Because you are afraid that her truth might be yours Years and years from now. Broken promises and regrets. False truths you believed in. Caved in; torn to pieces; Pieces of you, pieces of her. You don't know which is which.

Curtains closed,  city street sounds below.  Inside, dark blue, your silhouette breathing slowly, next to me against crisp white sheets. Our bodies writhed and twisted a few minutes ago,  the need for each other almost unbearable. Thirsty; hungry, we fed upon each other, as if tomorrow may never come. Tomorrow you will go again and disappear. My want and need for you will still be incessant. But now I am good at pretending it isn't.