Digging My Toes

May 23, 2005

In accordance with my attempts at being a writer, I am suppose to chronicle my trips. So here it is, surrounded by wind, sand and surf.

NOSTALGIA

After making love,
we would always walk.
And no matter what time of day it is,
we spend last flashes of restlessness
while we amble, not touching.

The crowded street
never fails to part for us
as if remnants of last night's violence
still emit from our bodies.
Our unseen scars, a warning.

When I lose sight of you.
I would close my eyes
and stand still.
Letting the memory
of how many times--

you came last night, lead me
to your body's faint tremors.
And my skin would prickle
at the thought,
of how near you are.

The body does not choose
its memories.
Proximity and intensity
are the only requisites,
for blood to burn.

Some things can never be forgotten,
if we submit to it night after night.
I taste my tender, bloodied lip
and realize the reminder
is not even necessary for--

after finding you,
I would not come near you yet,
knowing my body trembles like yours,
I let instead,
your skin , feel me too.

blue rogue