Restaurant Restroom Rhapsody by Swords-and-Bandages, literature
Literature
Restaurant Restroom Rhapsody
I-- I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to run away,
Turn you aside or leave you in the cold.
My thoughts were scrambled too fast
For me to react calmly,
Take it all in stride
And just nod as the truth came.
The rhythm of my thoughts
Just fell apart; the wineglass I was holding
Would have too, were it not for the inside of my head
Holding a vague idea
Of what was coming.
The main course must have arrived by now;
But I don't feel hungry, even though I know
The lasagna here
Leaves little room for words
How could I have not known who--
What--
You are?
The signs were obvious, looking back.
My loins let me believe whatever I wanted to bel
I fell in love with a pianist's hands.
They danced across my skin in minuets, his fingers tripping cadenzas up and down my spine. He brushed sonatas through my hair and across my shoulders, pianissimo. I trembled beneath his trills. The primal, earnest rage of Bach swelled in hot crescendos along my throat, beneath my ribs, guided by his hands --- Mozart, coolly logical, raised goosebumps down my arms --- Chopin soothed the fire and finally calmed my hammering heart.
I fell in love with a pianist's hands, listening from the back of the coffee shop while my lungs fought for breath, making wishes until he was gone.
I struggle with it still to remember
My fingers' feelings in fur long ago,
For I have fallen far for you;
Long's the distance love may go.
You seemed to me a seeress abroad;
Coated in catskin, coming and going.
Though you perceived all passing things
Seldom were you seen at all.
You went as a wandering lady,
Dressed in a soft dappled brown.
With profound green eyes for passing commons;
But warmth you had for one alone.
Young I was then, just yet a child,
Though you always hid your age.
The winding mountains minded your steps,
Yet by asphalt you were almost killed.
Young I was then, just yet a child,
Though you always hid your age.
A shatt
For her the summer days are long. She is small and sweet, a cube of caramel with an aching aftertaste that lingers for ending too soon. Her arms and legs are pliable as grass, and as grass she swells like a sea with the wind saturating her hair. She is one of the movers who cannot dance, but were meant to, from a tight core low in the abdomen; and she walks the sidewalk on the diagonal, a magnet pulled to a dimly lit room with the bhh-bhh-bhh of good hip-swaying rock 'n roll.
He rides the subway at night, beats rhymes into the stretched skin of the drum. He is an eagle fledgling, long-haired and brown eyed. His pants are red and h
They were seven years old when they first met.
The boy was squatting in the dirt and watching a beetle as it flailed on the ground, stuck on its back. He prodded it gently, turning it over onto its feet as the girl came up behind him.
"Whatcha looking at?" she asked. The beetle flicked its wings indignantly, and sunlight flashed off the iridescent green. "Ooh, that's a pretty bug."
She reached down to scoop it up, but he grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch it!" Sensing the danger, the beetle began to crawl away.
"Hey!" the girl exclaimed. "Let go of me!" She yanked h
The Man in the Mausoleum by orphicfiddler, literature
Literature
The Man in the Mausoleum
I live in a mausoleum in the Vestre Cemetery, amidst fragrant cherry trees and yew hedges, by rust-colored paths and ivy-domed chapels. It is lovely here, dark and sweet-smelling and moist, like living in the womb of a plumb, and I am her bruised child, reborn every evening when the sun sets.
I do not come out in the day. It is bright then, painfully so, even when the sky is as filled with melancholy clouds as the ending to a Hans Christian Anderson story. Every morning, when the cock crows and the danse macabre endsif there is one that nightI slip through the mausoleum door of some long-dead notable and wrap myself in his warm c
He couldn't care less about her adoration for philosophy;
the way the word 'existentialism' rolled off her tongue
and gave her nostalgia, how solipsism infuriated her,
the way she became fascinated with hail that broke glass.
In fact, he despised how she remembered every bone
in the human body and how she compared them
to other things: "The pelvic girdle is just misshapen wings
and the carpals are like tiny stones you find on beaches."
What he loved was the way her eyes stole his essence,
how his skin would be gnawed on by shivers and tingling,
how she'd masticate potassium and roll her tongue when
she ingested vitamin c.
Quite f
Already, I'm lost.
You fell back so slowly,
Midnight engulfing us both;
Draping across our skin
As it trails from you,
Leaks out sinuously,
Pours all over us
Like the blood I shed for you.
A kaelidoscope of passionate emotions
Enthrall me as a soft, seductive
Breath escapes those parted dams
Made scarlet by my offering.
Quietly I inhale you,
Until the reality of you falls like an avalanche,
As crisp and clear as your delicate marble,
Engulfing me, sucking me in, knocking me out-
And we fall,
Forever.