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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 |