#midnightclocks

[midnight-clocks]

I wish. Sometimes I wish. Like a child I wish but with the want of an adult. An eager and greedy wishful, like a boy, but with the desire, this outright need for you, that burns and fuels this man.

m-c

[midnight-clocks]

See, the thing is... I don't want to just tell you a story when you ask for one. Not really. What I want, no, what I long for is to whisper a tale of desire that contains no words at all. Where lips become something  from which art emerges, calligraphy strokes whispered across your collar bone, along your neckline. No words, no sound, just the press of skin to skin, as this want is  written and breathed to life. I want to kiss sonnets along the length of your legs. Resting, for just a heartbeat, at the backs of your knees before continuing once more. I'm no musician, Baby, but I've lyrics I'd sing to the contours of your hips and the inner curves of your thighs. You want a story, well Darlin', I want beat poetry pressed deep into the pages of your sex. Open up to me, and I'll tell you this isn't a bedtime story, I'll be writing it well into the hours of the morning before I'm done.

-- midnight-clocks

[midnight-clocks]

You would do well with being devoured like one would read a book that cannot be set down.

Your binding gripped firmly while your pages are eagerly turned with greedy, feverish, saliva-moistened fingertips.

Drinking deeply from each intoxicating sentence. Ravenously feasting on, chapter after chapter, the complexities of your characters. Savoring the tang of their faults and the sweetness in their victories.

-- midnight-clocks

[midnight-clocks]

ache

Stillnesss of the grey clouds covering the sky. The mounting tension, thick in the air, the silence is deafening. It's coming, It's coming, I close my eyes. Willing it. Wanting it. Needing it. It rumbles in from faraway. a lullaby  of thunder resonating through the sky, in my chest a kettle drum for a heart. *“With a shriek birds flee across the black sky,  people are silent,  my blood aches from waiting.”

-- m-c

[note: the quoted is by Meša Selimović, from a film called Before the Rain (1994).]

[midnight-clocks]

How to Sunday

Coffee

Sunday Crossword

Reading the paper with you

more you...more you.

[midnight-clocks]

Twin Peaks (90s television)

Things I Learned from Twin Peaks (in no particular order):

- black coffee is a good thing

- everybody has secrets, everybody

- Sherilyn Fenn was just all kinds of distracting any time she was in a scene

- cherry pie is a good thing 

- David Lynch had an interesting perspective

- Lara Flynn Boyle was just all kinds of distracting any time she was in a scene

- Angelo Badalamenti's score was amazing

- tuna salad on wheat bread was my favorite sandwich for a week

- Mädchen Amick was just all kinds of distracting any time she was in a scene

- Julee Cruise's vocals were eerie and ethereal 

- adding the sound of finger snapping to a score ups its catchiness 

- everybody has issues, everybody 

[midnight-clocks]

Don't ask me that. Your eyes wide open,  innocent and curious-like, when you ask,  "What do you want from me?" Don't ask me that. With well-intended listening skills but the inability to hear me. Don't ask me that. Because a "what" is singular,  at least to me it is. The "what" I have in mind, isn't at all. Don't ask me that. Because the "what" is everything, is your everything. So, don't ask me that as it was never a "what" but a "who". It is a "who" I want. "Who?" You.

m-c

[midnight-clocks]

What is it that makes it a "poem" or "poetry"?  It isn't a "what" - it's a "who".  It's a you, a me, a her, him, and them.  It's the meter of a hard pulse of the heart; it's the break of a drawn breath, held, and exhaled. It's that sweltering fervency of desire perspired, like sex, with every thrust of a keystroke or pen, and placement of a pause. It's all those things one might say, and a hundred more one may not. What is a poem, what is poetry? A poem, poetry, isn't a what - it's a who. It is all of us. You or me, a her, him or them. A confession of a soul when otherwise words would get in the way.

m-c