the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love

the words i want to share with you

What frustrates me most about our non-existent and purely-epistolary love affair are the words: the words i want to share with you as they carelessly float to and fro between us in a shared bath of translucent liquid dreams and cream made with rose petals; words to which you hold the first letter of and that I hold the last letter to; words which tell you only the least of which I want to wrap you with; words that come forth, but sadly fall into an empty space as my hands and mind cannot accommodate their fluid overflowing;

words that take every "s" and swirl them about you
"w"s mapping limb labyrinths we pursue
the dots of "i"s protrude, so that my I may see inside
flat "d"s revealing the extension of the attention i cannot hide
"m"s undulating to our motion
"u"s careening with our utter devotion
i can even see you bent-over bakku (de shiyoo) in the hump an R ,
and to think that I have used only seven sinful letters so far;

words that merely pretend to hold all that boldly beg of you; words that paint patterns of unbridled lust in fixed form, the performance of a sad sex soliloquy in the midst of one-eyed storm; words potent in my imagination, powerful in their gestation, and alive in your lips when red; words that ride me freely upon the ruby ridge de tus labios, y llévame adentro el vértigo del redondo de tu rodilla; words that make their imploring way to you, even when there is a world between to keep us apart; words that start then stop then begin again, only to continue and ensue seemingly with no end; words that let me hold on when all else pulls you away in malicious attempts to have me let go; words oh words these are the sacred words that tell you how much I want you so.

the art of living the art of living the beginning the art of love the art of love

legal l.m