thinking back to...

the sex stained sheets
and the acrobatics
of listening

back when
things were once a seeming
eternity
the bed creaking
against the floorboards
threatening to bring down the curtains
and the blinds
a sort of
violence
in the sweetness of some kind of
otherworldly exchange
and the moon
peered in
not saying a word
and the scent of lilacs
filled the morning air
and there was no residue
only oxygen

and how we broke the frame
and we'd only met 3 hours before
maybe 4
and how the alpine sun shone through
the walls
and we pulled hay from our clothes
and
driving through the dolomites
we stopped to "ahh" at the stars
and milky way
above
with venice running through our minds...

and how i once loved you
to the point of
even vitmn water on the shelves of kowalskis
would break my heart to
recall
all the things i
never said
like
"love"

and that b&b
and how you kept disappearing
saying
"finished"
but would always reappear
and id say
"begin"
till you became this kind of
habit

and you had this sort of madness
in those 6 inch stilettos
and we'd wake entwined
blurry eyed
fuzzy brained
saying
"oh
ha
hi"

and i always knew you werent
right for me
but i could never stay away
cuz youd call
and i
was
bored
and
restless
and in need
of something
to tame

and we would spill our drinks
all over the floors
not caring
about everything that
got knocked off the tables

and when my path
would cause me to
pass your house
id let out some kind of sigh
even though id never loved you

and then id count the number of
houses
that id drive past in a matter of miles
sighing at
and
laugh to myself
and sigh again

and how you serenading was
the worst thing ever
and only vodka made it
tolerable
but that was when i was more
greedy

and i didnt even know your name
im still not sure

and i know we shouldnt have
but we did
and karma made sure to
pay me back for that one

and i didnt know you were
there with her
or i wouldnve brought you home
but i guess its ok
because i still guess at your name too...

and how i threw hardboiled eggs against the wall
and you bit my lip
and i felt like i was being returned to a place
that no longer wanted me
and you were
the most beautiful id ever seen
that i couldnt speak for two years
and we would
laugh about that
poem
that goddamn
stupid
silly
poem
and how everybody stared
and
i told you how i dislike mangoes
and you told me your disdain for oysters
and we didnt leave the rain for hours
and you would cry
in the middle of
it all
and id storm out to
smoke a cigarette
and you broke my heart
with all your lies
and i broke yours
with how
id go so silent...

and ive never yelled like
ive yelled at you
nor been as gentle as
with you

and i can only remember some
and half the time forget the rest
except there are
these scars
on my heart
that remind
and

even now
tonight
all memories merge into one
all yous are five minutes/ five hundred lifetimes ago
some kind of fast forward blur...

and the only thing i can recall
vividly
at this exact time
of
19.14

is

that one time

that one and only time

of over there
and how we did nothing
but
clink glasses
and walk on top of things
and eat
and drink coffee like it was
going to put us to sleep...

and its funny how
all that seeming nothing
can
later return as being
the most
distinct

not because there was
some kind of
poet's love
but because

in my heart of scarred hearts...

ive still always
valued "real"
over
sheets that are just offering
themselves up
to be

stained

(for the taking).


kim thompson. monday 14 jan 2012. 19.24 seoul. s. korea