When I close my eyes, you are a ghost, lingering on the edge of my dreams, dancing on my eyelashes. Struggling to keep you in focus invites miscellaneous mirages to appear in the desert. My brain is a barren wasteland. Winds settle little grains of sand like fickle interior designers. Perhaps this grain would look better over by the frontal lobe instead of the temporal. No, let’s move this one to the parietal and keep this other particular grain in the temporal. And these three gains need to be sent to the occipital. I feel moisture escaping. My eyes are sandpaper, rolling to the back of my head at night. My days have drained me. My nights are my time alone with you. In the distance, where the heat blurs your figure, stands you.
Our next moment together is in a bar, where we have to give blood samples to order a pint.
“So many diseases walk through the door…” The waiter tells me as an amoeba sits on a bar stool and gets brusquely asked to leave.
Your eyes transport me. I’m lost in what could be. We haven’t spoken yet and you tilt your head in a way that makes me want to kiss those begging lips.
“My job sucks,” I laugh as I say it.
“I know.” Of course, you would know.
There aren’t words for us, for you and me and this pseudo bar. My pint is thick and burly. Yours is tall and curvy. Words pour out of me. Things I haven’t even thought yet come streaming out of my mouth in a straight line. You take the words and pin them on a clothes line, gingerly. We watch them dry as we sip our drinks.
“You know, I’ll always do this, I’ll always be here,” you say that as a breeze brings in a few grains of confused sand.
“I know,” I say. I reach for your hand. It slithers away inch by inch and I chase it across the table. Soon, I am in your lap and it’s comforting. Our smiles brew. Our fingers entwine like wisteria. Your eyes sound like the ocean.
My thighs find yours as my fingers play hide and seek in your hair. I feel your hands wandering up my back. Your breath fogs up my neck. Migrating, you reach all of me. Having you close feels like the thrill of blowing on dandelions, of making a wish. All my hopes, my dreams, my desires, my wants, my needs rise and fall with me on top of you.
Your lips, those impeccable mounds of sugar and spice, feel like pillows.
My phone vibrates as the horrible dawn breaks. I lose you, again. Till tonight. Till tonight. Tonight.
Our next moment together is in a bar, where we have to give blood samples to order a pint.
“So many diseases walk through the door…” The waiter tells me as an amoeba sits on a bar stool and gets brusquely asked to leave.
Your eyes transport me. I’m lost in what could be. We haven’t spoken yet and you tilt your head in a way that makes me want to kiss those begging lips.
“My job sucks,” I laugh as I say it.
“I know.” Of course, you would know.
There aren’t words for us, for you and me and this pseudo bar. My pint is thick and burly. Yours is tall and curvy. Words pour out of me. Things I haven’t even thought yet come streaming out of my mouth in a straight line. You take the words and pin them on a clothes line, gingerly. We watch them dry as we sip our drinks.
“You know, I’ll always do this, I’ll always be here,” you say that as a breeze brings in a few grains of confused sand.
“I know,” I say. I reach for your hand. It slithers away inch by inch and I chase it across the table. Soon, I am in your lap and it’s comforting. Our smiles brew. Our fingers entwine like wisteria. Your eyes sound like the ocean.
My thighs find yours as my fingers play hide and seek in your hair. I feel your hands wandering up my back. Your breath fogs up my neck. Migrating, you reach all of me. Having you close feels like the thrill of blowing on dandelions, of making a wish. All my hopes, my dreams, my desires, my wants, my needs rise and fall with me on top of you.
Your lips, those impeccable mounds of sugar and spice, feel like pillows.
My phone vibrates as the horrible dawn breaks. I lose you, again. Till tonight. Till tonight. Tonight.
2 comment(s) to... “Loving a Ghost By: Leila Arciero”
2 comments:
This is wild. Very dreamy. I like your metaphors and description. Felt like I was there in the bar, too, being asked to leave as usual.
yep... i was that amoeba... you wouldn't believe the shit we have to go through to get a decent pint...
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