on the rocks

i tasted you.

somewhere between memory

and the burnt amber touching my lips.

(i should drink more often)

Whiskey

(same script, different poison)

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Excavation

Do I scare you?

Is my music too loud? Can you sense the symphony under my skin, the cello and the drum beat? My own little march and invitation.

Is that why you want to turn me down.

Do I scare you? With words this long, and seeing through? With asking for your stories, too?

You scare me, it seems. Your dull charm and your possibility. The way my fingers itch toward your chest, toward ribs and the cracking of cages wide open.

This has always been my wild persuasion. A man buried as deep as you. And the promise of an excavation.

Joanne Piechota photography at body, remember

“Ordinary life does not interest me” ~ Anais Nin

 

What they mean by the end

I want to pick up the phone and say hey it’s me. I want to listen to you roll every syllable together in that funny, rushed way I always adored. To hear the safety of your voice down the line and not think about anything at all. To spin a story about my day where you are still the only one I want to tell.

The bitter has been sweetened by wine and time; when I heard your name just now it made me smile. I think this might be what they mean by the end. When the hurts and the pain have gone away, how it really just comes down to this:

The sudden desire to say hey it’s me – and how the phone stays in my pocket.

Little Clicks Joanne Piechota
Image by Joanne Piechota ; Repost of this little realisation by Me

“I want you to know that I have loved you all along. And even when we’re far apart …”