If I could turn back the hands of time, I would’ve never let go of hers. Those moments where hours felt like seconds and minutes was just used as an excuse to have her I’m my presence just a little bit longer. When loosing track of time didn’t mean being absent minded but just lost in the beauty of her eyes. When 5 to 9’s were lazy Sunday’s spent in bed watching movies. I could still feel her on my chest listening to what my heart was saying, a beat she used to dance too. Se made every season feel like a perfect dream in technicolor. But Now all that is left is an empty rib cage filled with precious black and white polaroids. Summer burns, Fall is dead, and Winter traps the memories frozen in the hands of time that I will never be able to turn back.
It was poetry in motion. My eyes synchron-eyesed every time she stepped on stage. Her body told a story I’ve heard but forgotten, a fairy tail lost in anguish. Trying to read in between the blurred lines because hindsight is 20/20, compelled by every page that gave hints of the future. Except happy endings aren’t always written at the end of my tales and lady luck isn’t always on my side. I usually flip a coin and go head over heels, but for a woman who is worth taking a chance and going to war for, that is my achilles heel.
A long long time ago last year I made a drunken vow to myself that I wasn’t going to fall in love ever again. But Summer has a funny tendency to pick people up and break promises. Maybe it was the heat rushing to my head, the fire resonating from those thighs or maybe it was this feeling that felt so familiar like the sent of coffee on Sunday morning. You see the first time I laid eyes on you was like a revelation, revealing visions of skin on skin on satin sheets like the smoothest journey you’ll ever get the chance to venture. My heart beat was morse code, transmitting information to my brain telling me that it was faith that brought us together looking for change. You were a dime among pennies but my common sense told me that history repeats itself, don’t make the same mistake twice but I did, I fell in love again. A love that came out of no where like a damn cyclist on Maisonneuve, except I bumped path’s with you at the intersection of first and sight. It hit me so fast like a combination of jabs and hooks even Floyd couldn’t bob and weave through. K.O’ed my perception not really knowing what I was getting myself into, yet I dove straight into the ocean without testing the waters letting the tide pull me into the unknown. The doubt that you don’t even feel the same way I do, that me writing this soft ass love poem don’t mean shit and that I’ll envy the man you’ll choose before me, maybe this, maybe that, fuck! This is exactly the reason why I didn’t want to fall back in love. More minutes of reflection then hours of sleep, more emotions then a Drake record, the reason why I’m awake at my desk at 5am, you are the DJ that makes my tables turn with symphonic precision. So precise like a surgeons scalpel that cut a wound too deep to stitch that’s why I needed you to be my staple. I needed you to keep me sane but you took my train of thoughts and turned them into loco-motives but it’s ok because this pain right here is the coal that keeps this engine going eventually fading into dust. And so I sit here unable to function, sent of whiskey after each exhalation of memories I wished I had forgotten, a long long time ago last year.
I heard in a movie once that when you fall in love everyones becomes a poet, well in that case I’ve been a poet ever since I understood what feelings felt like. The sweat on my palms every time we get a little bit closer, the extra heart beat I get when I hear your name in conversation and the stutter of my speech cause girl the conviction in your eyes got me so tongue tied. You see I copy paste my poems off my chest in hopes that maybe someday you’ll plagiarize how I feel. But even so every time I’m with you it is real and feels like I’m reciting poetry practicing for a performance. Seduction is my language and therefore I am fluent when I speak. Shhhh don’t say a word let my lips do the talking as I use mother tongue making you want to come back for an encore. We don’t need a script as we improvise, we don’t need characterization as we foreplay, we don’t need practice as we’ve both been disappointed enough to know that this right here is something different. What the rest of this plot holds is a beautiful gift, a mystery I don’t want to solve too fast, just let the champagne set in and allow the night to unravel it for us. The strings falling from your hips ever so slowly like sunset going down the vertical horizon in between your thighs, I want to pleasure you. I want you to say my name over and over again, wear yourself out make every breath a numberless countdown before the climacteric apex that makes you arch your back, curl your toes, clench your teeth and say it one last time, now the neighbours know my name. And when you exhale let the curtains close, the light dim out, leaving you in awe waiting for the next sequel.