2007-12-11 - 11:14 p.m.
i wanna eat pancakes with you. with syrup. blue berry syrup....
...i wanna play xbox 360 games with you. not the crappy older xbox with the stick figure drawings-- the new one. with the amazing movie-like experience that makes you think you're actually driving and crashing expensive imported cars just because you can...
and i want to "accidentally" cover your eyes, so you crash into the wall. and then watch you get mad and chase me around the living room... and i'll run slow so you can catch me ..i'll even pretend to trip, so you can fall on top of me. and then i'll put all your worries about my penchant for cheating during car-racing games to rest with one big gigantic squeeze..
and you'll say, "ahhhhhhhhhh babe! you can cover my eyes, and make me crash into the computer-generated wall in my super charged, expensive, formula 1 car anytime!"
... and i'll say, "mmmmm... i like the way you smell when you don't take a shower for a day... and it's like, on the verge of being stinky but it's not....
it's..
just..
you..."
and you'll say, "i like you.
let's have sex on the couch to make it official."
..and we'll hump for around 45 minutes, alternating between slow thrusting, where i look at you and visibly ache inside just seeing those expressions on your face.. the ones that make me worry in the back of my head that someday you'll grow old, and i'll grow old, and i'll either be senile, or you'll be hit by a drunk driver, and we'll never be able to recreate the days that don't feel like the grinding work stints that people want to abandon and trade in for something better..
because we're together... in a house (or any place on earth) that just happens to fit around us like the way odd-shaped circumstances fit around chronic daydreams. like worn out blankets fit around the shoulders of people who've lived alone outside next to cement and stale gum their whole lives...
....we'll someday be different than the whim-filled thoughts we indulged as new toothpaste-sharing neighbors exploring the boundaries of the kitchen, naked and hungry, because something will happen... it always does..
.........but like i was saying, alternating between slow thrusting... and mad Mr. Toad's Wild Ride prodigious, ambitious wall-hunting, propped up against the bookshelf by the door, falling off the chair, breaking in the nearest kitchen counters sex... the sex that sells itself just by the thought of it during the day and waiting for it ..counting the seconds until 5pm when the Fred Flintstone whistle blows and it's time to leave work and have the hearty young Jim Morrison fuck of our lives..
i wanna take you into the jacuzzi and suck on your toes.. because i won't do it unless they're clean.. and i won't do it unless i mean it. not because it turns me on.. but because i know it makes mortal girls cringe. and i want to know that i've safely crossed the line of permission given to unwanted but secretly appreciated gestures..
i want you to use your tongue on me in places that are reserved for thoughts often unloaded in confessional boxes or anonymous online diaries... i want you to be that in love with me that you forget about the uptight bitches you call friends who attempt to direct your life like a naggy bunch of housewives in training, complete with cock-shaped clitori and hair curlers and green facial masks.. i want you to pretend those self-serving cunts, er..."friends".. are dead and buried and resting in hell with the other fallen angels.. and they have nothing more to say about the way we want to touch, yearn, tease, toss, taunt and tantalize each other's bodies and salads..
i want to take you places in my car. and i want you to drive me places in yours.. i want to go to L.A. and feel artsy.. i want to go to San Diego and feel lost and careless like i'm on an unsuspecting vacation full of days that haven't even been solidified into actual excuses for leaving work yet.. i want to get on my bike and pedal and ride next to yours and in front of yours and in back of yours.. i want to see your ass hugging the bike seat and squeeze it when i pedal by at light speed as we come up to the hill on goldenwest and barrel down it, hoping the traffic lights will change in time, so we can apply less brake and more resolve to hit speeds designed to make normal people pee their pants...
i wanna love you in the grass.. i wanna love you in the hot sand.. i want to love you in the pool (especially in the pool) and standing on any nearby mountains, hills, balconies and gigantic laguna beach rocks..
i hope you get sick once a year because i want to design a chicken soup party around your fever and a makeout party around your recovery.. i wanna make you a get well card while i put a cold cloth on your forehead and let you watch me make it, so you'll feel "awwwwwww" inside and i won't have to work so hard to seem irresistible and live up to the statistical 1 out of a billion special find at the swapmeet. i want you to love me like jesus and heroin and a sticky cinnamon roll fresh from the oven and a pile of money touching the ceiling and unlimited hawaiian sunshine..
i wish you were as real as the unrelenting edge of a Monday morning... and as soft as the realization one rests their head on at the end of a meaningful failure.
