in my backyard

It's not as if i wanted to get married.
Or have your babies.
Or spend the rest of our lives together.
Or be soul mates.
Or die in each others arms.
Or anything like that.

I just thought you were really nice, and I thought we might be nice.

That's all.
Honest.

x

contagious,

Fingers fat and sluggish with this pent up motion, yet somehow words spill with a deft neatness from the pen's tip.
The gleaming strand which connects mind to paper, once taken for granted, now decrees an almost holy reverence when it arrives; indecipherable with sheer possibility.
Mind moving at the speed of light as ideas are conceived, pondered and sorted in miliseconds. Words flow as blood through arteries, and the world slows as they leak from the wound.

you go back to her and i go back to us.

Whipped into a frenzy of desire by your unbridled indifference.
A swirling hurricane of contradictions and oxymorons.
We dance, two lovers; forever swapping roles, trading places. Never agreeing upon anything, always wishing for something and still we remain locked together, unable to escape.