1/2/2023 0 Comments Westland survival wendigo![]() ![]() ![]() You will point out pretty girls, talk about your sex lives heartily, but all the while you'll have your hand on my shoulder, your eyes will linger over the expanse of throat or knee. Some of you don't and you hold my gaze, you lean forward, you let our knees brush against each other. Some of you do, and you're the ones who dance away the most. We are platonic now, we are all platonic, you probably have someone else, who demands your time. I return home, and I know that till the next time I hear from you, my phone will be silent. There are moments where there is "unprotected eye contact" and I catch my breath, but you're always the first to look away. ![]() There are moments when you and I exchange a look, or when I say something I think is funny under my breath and you're the only one who turns to me, and your laugh is reluctant, as though I'm forcing it out of you. There are moments when I think of everyone I've ever loved-loved hard, loved with every atom of my being. There are moments, there are always moments. It will be as though I imagined it, us being together at all. You might also kiss my forehead, the chasteness exuding from all pores of you, but especially the way you tuck your lips inwards. You will (because you once were my lover) touch my cheek, we have a physical intimacy, blessed to people who have been close, you are tender even as you are brusque. With mascara-soaked eyelashes, I look up, my smile throbbing at the corners of my mouth. How can you give up a country you conquered? This is so about me, more so when I think about my shoulder, the one you claimed for your own with a circle of teethmarks, my knuckles that you surreptitiously caressed underneath tables and in taxis. This is about the disembodied arms, this is about male cologne that stays on my fingers, this is about me sniffing my t-shirt and my palms, this is about me leaning forward to talk to someone that ONCE, once, I had something with and suddenly being assaulted by their boy smells, the sweat, the salt, the undertones of sweetness. Thoughts of what once was, what once happened, thoughts of when I was the happy message on the cellphone, the one whose call you COULD NOT cut, whose calls you always picked up, even if you just picked up to say, "Hey baby, I'm busy, can I call you back?" Winter does this to me, no matter what city I'm in. Especially when the last time involved his tongue and my throat. I don't know whether you do this, but I have all these porn flashbacks happening when I meet someone I once was involved with. What's it like being around someone you no longer have a scene with and yet are attracted to at some level or another? Really, really weird, that's what it is. ![]()
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