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v u l v a l i c i o u s

Oh, I really wanted that thing. I just want to sing I love you baby.
2002-11-11 // 9:03 a.m.

I'm not pretending, not making things up. I write down the same thing every night as though that might help validate me. Her is never the same her, she is not the she that I spoke of yesterday or the day before. Unless, of course, she is, and her presence is always there--right there--in the upper right corner of my mind.

We walk through fallen red maple leaves and appreciate their beauty. I hold my tongue, but want to tell her that she's beautiful. Does she hear that? Does she want to? I take a long step out of the leaves, kicking a few up with my back foot. In their rain dampness, a few cling to my boot, and I carry them with me.

As much as I enjoy the feeling of crushing, I hate its prolonged inevitability. I hate the control it has over thoughts, words, poetry.

In my mind, I begin thinking of her eyes. Rhyming nature seeks a pairing, and comes up only with thighs; hips, stomach, breasts--I am building her up up until she is naked before me, and I cannot help but kiss her.

My imagination does not want to be reigned in. It wants her, and stays in hot pursuit in spite of my protests. I cannot push her back, I cannot push her out. The space in my upper right corner, a space unoccuppied for some time, is hers, whether she wants it or not. And I think I know, in the upper left corner of my mind, that this is a spot she does not want.

And that is why I want her out of my mind.

Thinking, Feeling, Cunting; the latter being my verb of choice.


i travel backwards in time, but dream of going forward - 2006-11-21
The Gentrification of a Perfectly Good Cunt - 2006-04-02
apologia, not apology - 2006-03-06
karen carpeter loops and the space time continuum - 2005-12-19
kissing like you mean it, even when you don't necessarily know what "it" is - 2005-04-16