Desultory and Impulsive

[y=mx+b]

Staring at her.

Her knowing
And just sitting there

Watching her. Deflect. Detract. Derail. All to maintain composure. Order. Sense of virtue for the relationship she had been developing.

I sat on my hands
Clipped my tongue
Curbed my thoughts
And took a measured drink from my glass

The rum and coke blended well in my mouth.

I swallowed and felt her gaze; like velvet smoke, slowly drifting across time in my direction

She looked at me.

And now it was my turn to return the favor.

 

[y=mx+b]

Such is the lover's struggle

Unlike a failed marriage
Or relationship
No bridge has been burned
No sense of disgust has been established
No sense of guilt or shame

All that there is
Is an ash covered red hot ember

Waiting.


Always waiting.

 

[y=mx+b]

I didn't even know why I agreed to be there.

That's a lie.


I was there to see her.
What I didn't know
Was why I was there to see her
When she was so happy with him.


I felt like a kid
Caught up in the excitement
Of going to an amusement park
And realizing that the park was always happy regardless of who was in it.

Yes.
Childish.
I know.

But there it is.

And there I was
Having to force interest
In a situation I wanted to run from
Knowing
That if I did
The park wouldn't run after me.

 

[y=mx+b]

Yeah.

Boo-fuck-hoo for me.

But the thing is motherfuckers is that I'm at the amusement park whereas all you jackasses are not. At least not at this one.

And so I do what I do and float the lazy river. Watching. Observing.

He's nervous in his own right. But my wife is an eager listener. He finds comfort in her listening. Her beauty is honest, organic, and disarming. And with her interest and her at his side, he is confident in spite of his newness.

The rum and coke is going down all too easily. Not out of some personal necessity. I'm just finding it taste really fucking good.

Their relationship is still new. Not super new. They themselves are comfortable together. They fit. I like them. I see it working. Which, admittedly strums a jealous string in me. But no more than that of the ability of the three of them to be so engaged with each others stories, interests, and conversations. Living the life of an observer is a damnable existence of standing in front of the most beautiful tapestry wishing so hard you could just fall into it.

But then if you did
So much of everything else would be missed.

My eyes skip across the canvass just as my ears absorb the waves of their stories crash upon the rock of glances exchanged and smiles shared.

 

[y=mx+b]

What purpose does this place serve me?

It's a question I ask myself time and again. I've yet to come up with a real solid answer.

 

[y=mx+b]

The thought of a percentage of you believe that my previous post is a continuation of my little story leaves me feeling... entertained.

It's actually kind of a weird rabid sensation of feeling embraced, but also isolated.

 

[y=mx+b]

Which causes me to question myself further.

 

[y=mx+b]

Drying off in the bathroom after a shower.

The sound of her laughter
As she lays in bed.

The cat
That is no longer a kitten

But yet
Still is.

 

[y=mx+b]

Egyptian chamomile tea with elderberry syrup
Toasted sourdough bread
Butter

Cat on my lap
Dog next to the chair

The sound of an audio romance story
Being read by a woman with an English accent

Hash browns cooking in a frying pan.

 

[y=mx+b]

What's irish, not afraid of pandemics, and can stay out all year long?

 

[y=mx+b]

Paddy O'Furniture.

 

[y=mx+b]

There is a certain something
About seeing her
On stage
Singing
In her Sunday best
Wearing that white blouse of hers
The one
That forms perfectly
Around her chest, waist, and hips
Accentuating all the perfect curves of her body

Knowing

How well our bodies fit just as perfectly
Naked
Together

My thrusting
Her reaction
To me
My touch
My hand
Grabbing her ass
My thumb
Tracing the rim of her asshole
Feeling it
Pressing into it
Sensing it's give
As I give my cock to her
The hard length of it
Entering into her
Her wet body
The unity of it
The togetherness of it
The closeness of it

And I love
Knowing
That every bit of her
Belongs to me.

As arrogant
And archaic
As that is
In this wishy-washy modern era
That we live in

I fucking love it

And I like to think
That she loves it
Just as much.

 

[y=mx+b]

Sometimes
While outside splitting wood
I will catch her
Watching me from the window


I wish I could adequately
Explain how such moments
Make me feel

At the same time
Young and old
Full and empty

She smiles
I smile

She steps back
And her image
Fades back into a reflection
Of leaf barren trees.

 

[y=mx+b]

She looked so goddamn smug pouring herself a glass of wine feeling as though she had won the argument. Her logic was rational. Difficult to argue against and it pissed me off all the more. She knew me well. Knew how to provoke me that she could count on me to react just how she wanted. She fed on my passion. My emotions. My anger and rage. Getting me to react; good or bad, was validating, rewarding. It made her feel alive. And as much as it did, it was exhausting to me. I only had so much to give and she kept taking from me.

And I watched her. I studied her face. Beautiful as it was. Perfect even. Perfect to me. To my eyes. To my very being. I watched her. Her lips. The ones I once kissed. I once felt the heat of upon the length of my neck. The ones I once felt close around my cock. And I watched her as my word parted through the air

"How is it that you can spread your legs and drop to your knees for any man that's expressed sexual interest in you, yet God forbid I should fall in love with a woman that's fallen in love with me?"

The wine glass whizzed past my face shattering against the wall behind me and with the rage of a thousand feral cats fighting amongst themselves she lunged at me screaming "BECAUSE I DON'T CARE ABOUT MY BODY!"

 

[y=mx+b]

Currently reading a book about anti-gravity.

 

[y=mx+b]

It's impossible to put down.

 

[Moochienanu]

Title please

 

[y=mx+b]

Can't give it.

It's out of this world.

 

[Moochienanu]

Can't give it.

It's out of this world.

You know how I said I was enjoying the dad jokes?

Yeah...

I still am.

 

[y=mx+b]

You know how I said I was enjoying the dad jokes?

Yeah...

I still am.

 

[y=mx+b]

One of the more difficult things to do
Is build a new box
For a person you love
That grew out of the box you built together.

 

[y=mx+b]

She mutes her messages after eight.

 

[y=mx+b]

The stars were out and it was quiet.

I stood outside the door of my car

Home
After work
Feeling grimy gross

The air was still

And looking up at those stars
I thought of her question

Is it possible?

The reply I gave her
Was the kind I expected myself to give

But the one I wanted to give
Was yes

And I miss you too

But how?
And in what way
In the way we've never touched?

But yet... we have. And we had.

In the same way
We have touched others

...and pulled them in

Like how two stars
Touch the darkness of night
And how the darkness of night
Touches the still glass surface of a sea seldom sailed upon.

A perfect looking glass mirror
For something I wish to feel
Knowing
I never will.

 

[y=mx+b]

I want to fuck.

Yum
Yum
Yum

 

[y=mx+b]

Although I was unable to see the reaction of her face with the pillowcase pulled over her head. Nor hear the full shrill of her scream with the ball gag I made out of a sock and crumpled up aluminum foil shoved in her mouth. The flailing of her limbs and legs against the restraints whilst I pushed the barbed ends of the fishhooks into the soft flesh of her erect nipples made up for the deficit I normally required to remain hard.

I pressed my hand upon her chest between her breasts. She was hot and wet with sweat. And while I pressed down with one hand, I drew the center of the thread up with my other. Each end tied respectively to it's own hook. Pulling her nipples high and tight into the air.

The more I pulled
The more she tried to lift her chest up off the table. And the more I pushed down on her.

I could feel her ribs bend under my weight and strength.

It was such a beautiful feeling.

She was such a delicate little thing with her muffled screams sliding into convulsing sobs.

I kept pulling.

Trickles of blood began to appear and run down the side of her breast as the belly of each fishhook continued to pull through her flesh.