I Am Loved

I woke up beside him, and he was already awake, gazing at me, a hand across my chest.

'You're so perfect', he said. 'So perfect. Everything about you just is. Your face, from your eyes to your nose to the way your lips part when you yawn. Your body, your breasts, your ass, the way your shoulders move when you stretch. (Your hair... allright, it's not perfect, but that's not your fault.) I don't know anyone else that can look so perfect at the moment just after they've awaken. But... you are.'

'I can’t fall in love with you. You know that. This is crazy. I would love to, you're perfect, only I've just met you, and you don't even live here.'

'I'll be back in due time.'

... and so we shall see, then...

Artist, poet, tattoos, linen shirts, dread -locks, fantasist, perfect line work, wacky imagination, sweet to bits and tiny little itty bits.

He bought me a huge gothic crucifix before he left the country. And has sent me two poems since. Grabbed my breasts in departure lounge of the airport for everyone to see, and my ass, and, just about every other part. Too funny.

Poem One

<>Words cover the air with images of a strange line
and all that recalls that moment is that it really felt fine
the laugh, the joke, the stare of life and fun
the fools in the corner who struggle to see what was done
us two crazy kids, two mad fuckers of life
dancing through the streets with our asses in a bee hive <>
leting go in our stiff fucked up world
as i have tried with my head stuck in a whirl
and no one can see the stupidity of it all
those judgmental barstards with their hands on their ball
as in their life all they see are the rules
living by their blindness, writen by greedy fools. <>
for life is for living and it is for the free
us, who know who we are and who can plainly see
the joke of the stiffs and the joy of the fucked
in this socially screwed up messed up rutt. <>
i am in memory, i am insane
being me as me should be, all so deranged
and there looking with hands and hugs in the back seat
i see the fucked up world enjoying our ways down beneath our feet
with envy, with shock, they stare with their jaw on the ground
as we dance without a fuck to all that is around <>
two of a kind separate to the norm
two of a kind living and hugging warm
meeting by change, having a good time
who know when it began, who know when its the end of the line <>
no end will ever be there
for the two who are never here
touching a dream that most can not reach
dancing naked in the middle of the street
for all to see and all to touch
are we individuals really to much
i dont give a shit, i dont care
i am me, you are you, and thats the way of our air.
bad fucked up farts who laugh.

Poem Two

<>Recall a moment in life, in time
when the rythms go far beyond the rhyme
where life starts to breath a joy
and all that is real stands like a toy.
for alone one can dance
and alone one have a glance
with people he meets under sunday street lights
recalling insane moments alone, with those of passing street nights.
but with two the beat is strong
and the moments then are never wrong
for the truth hold dear to the hands of that fear
and the crazy energies brings out that laughing tear
and like the 100 dollar bill that flies through the air
everybody wants it and no one will dare
to catch that moment and play it for real
they just keep it in silent and try to feel
two dance better then one
so the story holds, and so it is done.

xoxox