It’s the way some people take their coffee.
Or blaze dark their font with.
Rather than settle for these everyday bits,
I turned to another German-Italian.
I went up in smoke
Every time he spoke.
I let him breathe stories into me
While I inhaled them
Deep into my barracuda bones.
I in a love jones.

I want my cake.
I want to eat it too.
Whether it involves him, him or you.
I know where my heart resides.
And every now and then
I feel my world crumble.
I’d do anything to come alive.

Even though my fantasies involved lies.
Even though I paid my own taxi ride.
Even though I went against myself.
I couldn’t help the instantaneous
Life without a seat belt.


Body Mind

Under the bar on the humps of my Trapezius I feel my body compress at it’s finest.  Grip-heavy ’round the barbell.  Squeezing with full tension and attention to it.  There’s no outside world thought or worry at the slightest.  I’m as present as I physically can come:  Fluid. 

I’m in love lust with how the body defends itself with every pelt and white or red blood cell.  In every tale of my body from the yellow-stained calluses to the bruises on my shins from deadlifts I’m forever compelled to excel even if it means turning heaven into hell.

If you shake my hand you can feel my work through them.  How much I fight, how much I defend and blend.. every new beginning and every bitter end.  And when co-workers, relatives and friends have let me down, I look to my body for the Big Ben, Amen and Zen. 

Time.  And.  Time.  Again.

Even though I may hold the feeling of fear of one wrong move or sudden slip to injury I vow to never break my concrete self.  The feeling of anxiety like those who welcome home performance pressures no matter how much their stressed heart swells.  I’ll never give in until the reps and sets ring its glory bells!

I don’t see an audience more or less.  I don’t see the other gym members half-assing their exercise movements.  I barely hear my grunts or feel the fire and grime of my sweat.  My pupils don’t even touch the gym floor mat.

My focus is eye ahead.


My Number Zero War Hero

If you’ll have me in your care again, with open arms, you would perform the greatest charm.  Like lips that are chapped, you’re my balm.  Like an faithful follower, you’re my psalm.  I’m water misbehaving.  But like the calm mood of wind only you can save me.  I’m everything and more:  Your war lady.

I’d really love to nuzzle my head in your chest to feel once again what it’s like to be loved by the best.  I crave the feel of your heavy world, how your heartbeats talk in my ear with kindness of rhythm and love and breath.  Honey if you ever leave, I’d have nothing left.

Caress my strands and brush them with forgiveness.  With you, it’s vivid how within every minute I’ve been swept like the many times before.  Like how you picked me up and out of my own living debt of death.  It’s true you’re my safety net.

Take me please and erase the other man’s residue from my body and matte hair.  Only you can fire my soul bare.  Only you can send the rays of light and care of flirty bounce to my tresses with loving prayers.  You clean my air.  Nothing else will ever compare.

How could I ever leave you?
My true love.
My number zero war hero.
I shed my clues in every breakthrough.

Who would take me with all my imperfections?
Who would study my micro expressions?
Who would love me in my dark sections?

You see and love me in all my
Twisted infinite perfections.


Simply A Goal: A Means Of An End

Strange, how it is, going to a true bachelor’s house and feeling the air humping around.  The invisibility of an individual’s current completely confound because there’s (always) the mission of gaining ground.  Or at least, attempt to pretend to follow along the trend?   

Stepping in quite shallow and scend, to view the moonlighting lanterns display across the pad.  I grow anxious like a deadbeat dad, in knowing, this night is only meant to be a fad and whatever happens good or bad.  I’m mature enough to know how to throw shit back and put it on the regret tab.

Still I can’t help but take note how there weren’t any sight of photographs to determine the familiarity or strangeness of people’s faces or what their race is.  Interesting, how deep space is even in the heart and bundles of mixed embraces.

Chairs on the Terrence.  Cheap thrills like clearance.  My hand fills up with a social drinker’s agenda (although I’m not proud of myself in this moment) and it would behoove me not to treat this like an errand.  But like a woman to flashy things I want to sleep with this baron.  Otherwise my fantasies would distract me barren. 

And like him, I have a good hand and an even better pokerface he’ll never read.  It’s the reason why two of us could play this game where intimacy isn’t intimacy only greed that bleeds. 


The Hardest Part: Determining Factor & Decision

Where do I start?

I want to have sex with this gym member who I’ve had a crush on for a little while now.  I’m used to dating, flirting, playing show me yours and I show you mines to just plain sex with my co-workers (if I trust them).  But not with gym members.

It has been an unspoken rule for years.  Not to say I’ve never dated any of these members.  But I just never went pass first base with any of them.  No one has ever been good enough to convince me out of my inner workings.   And in my case, liquor courage doesn’t help if you don’t drink liquor.

So somewhere between reading about Procrastination and needing some excitement in my life.  I voiced to gym member (who I’ll call) Mr. Stifler two weeks ago during a conversation of heavy bag and mixed martial arts how I found him to be good-looking.  By the end of the second week he asked me out to dinner for Sunday like a casual mess.

Obviously, the initial thought of sex is there because we both expressed our attraction towards one another.  Then it became obvious over dinner at the Thai place that we both aren’t looking for relationships and (unlike other females I presume he’s been with), how I don’t need drinks to be brave because I am comfortable in my skin.  Still when I expressed to Mr. Stifler how I don’t see the point in drinking, he chimed with his charming jerk self, then you’re not drinking enough.

Ah, peer pressure, excitement, lights, highness, left me with 3 big drinks in my belly on a practically empty stomach because who eats when attraction and flirtatiousness is filling up your appetite in itself?

Here’s my deal:  My heart and mind belongs to another, although we aren’t exclusive because of my terms.  So I don’t need anybody else’s love, devotion or affection.  I don’t require it at all.

However what I fancy is to have lots of desirable fun with someone who can keep me on my toes and can make me bend my principles and morals for a night or weekend or two.  This can involve having sex with new food tastes, getting an arm/shoulder workout from playing bowling or making out drunk in Dave & Buster’s with a guy who takes me out of myself right before I have to go and get a training session in.

My only issue is I don’t consider myself to be any good (anymore) in terms of just hooking up and making the home-run happen.  I matured a little bit too much apparently.  And the hardest part before practice is just getting started, right?