Lying in a bed. Cool sheets pulled up to my bare chest. Wooden beams hide in the dark walls of the room. The night was keen and bright, dancing wild fist pumps and marching. Drawn out talks, stretching by kitchen light. Breath, out on the porch, breath and steam and smoke before the black forest. Howling into the night, thumping our feet to the drums of a gathering. Eye-contact, thoughts passing between heads, laughter and saucy plans. Grabbing by the tail for more dancing.
Colors in the dark, to the beat of the 80's. Kissing? No. No kissing. Never
Quiet. The longing for nothing, love for silence. An old cynicism now pampered to plush humor. Just love, nothing but it. No possible outcomes makes nothing but the love for it.
Deep
down
love
for kissing.
Kissing the stars, kissing the fresh night air. Kissing the bottletops, kissing the cutted rug. Kissing the eyes, kissing the lips of the road with my wheels, kissing the raw bread and sharp cheese. not kissing the girl I've never met. Once kissing the girl I knew so well but didn't know. Kissing the thumbnail moon. Wishing for kissing a princess, to wake her from a slumberous doom...
Maybe this weekend will take a turn for the epic worst/best/leastexpected. Whatever way, I left one town to join another for these two days.
Until
tomorrow
adieu
Migs
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