On One Hand

June 24, 2005

Marijuana Breath

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 1:59 pm
Tags: ,

I miss you, marijuana breath.
Every moment I loved loving you I have paid back in ache
and still you linger in me like the acrid smoke that curls off your tongue.

Best of luck with everything, with your new fling and you never calling me back but wanting to still be friends anyway and all that. I wish you good luck with me not freaking out and doing something that might make you feel guilty.

Your remnants eat themselves beneath my skin
First to go, the memory of your thumb against my cheek as you leaned to kiss
followed by your taste, the touch of your small hands, our plans to live in Seattle
and the time you said you loved me, the time you said it would mean a lot to fuck somebody his first time and I said of course, take it.
The poems I wrote for you are still tucked between notebooks but I’ve forgotten what they mean
and I forgot the way we laughed and shared ice cream and the way your hands shook when you told me secrets.
I forgot the time I told you a story in bed, the way your sleepy eyes peeked up like a child’s yet you were the one telling me I was innocent,
the time I missed my classes because we sat hours getting wrinkled in the shower and I said the way the morning sunlight shined across the splashing water and your face looked like a scene from a movie, only sharper.
I forgot the time we met, your face lit under the colored lights of the Boulder Theater, your smile, and I could tell you were nervous so I played it cool,
I lost the time I sucked you in that girl’s driveway and the time I licked your cum off your thigh and you called me nasty
and the time I was drunk and had you breathe into me and I got dizzy and fell into you because your air was stale.
The first time I saw you naked and touched your cock and stroked your body –
there were scars on your arms I would kiss and I cut my own arms to look like yours (I can’t forget that one because they’re my scars now and last forever)
and I forgot the way your face turned down and teary when you saw what I had done for you
and you told me to promise I would never slit my wrists and I said I hope not
and I forgot the walks we went on and the time we hung the flowers above your sink with twist-ties
and lastly, I’m forgetting how you turned away, only after much time passed because such things are hardest to forget.

No, I don’t remember a bit of it.
these things burn like alcohol, and now I’m tired and hung over
and want to regain my strength

to intoxicate myself and burn once more.

Advertisements

4 Comments »

  1. I bet that hurt to write. It’s very intense. I wish you all the best.

    Comment by radical_will — June 24, 2005 @ 9:21 pm | Reply

    • It actually feels good to get it down because I’ve had the thought in me for a long time. It hurts more when it’s inside than out.

      Comment by ononehand — June 24, 2005 @ 11:30 pm | Reply

  2. “these things burn like alcohol, and now I’m tired and hung over”

    amazing use of the english language…

    Comment by afstyles — June 25, 2005 @ 11:24 pm | Reply

  3. Thank you.

    Reading your writings have been one of the most sensual moments of my life.

    Comment by Anonymous — June 26, 2005 @ 4:47 am | Reply


RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: