Posted by Confused on September 19, 2000 at 16:44:59:

In Reply to: For all of my homies who ain't getting any from the backlesshirted girls. posted by Ygnacio on September 18, 2000 at 22:05:04:

> I hurt tonight like glass about to shatter
> alone in an infinite empty rapture

> my silence so strong I become a wordless
> song of photographed girls employed
> endlessly in elevator riding

> blue eyed eyes, your eyes can’t tear me
> from my lack of tears my smile stylized
> into two keystrokes unable to sift

> and shift from keyboard to a few simple words
> I can’t even speak with my expressions
> they lay frozen in the vast wasteland
> between the realities of my voice and my eyes

> my eyes imbuing your backlesshirted back
> with all my imagination: cream toned flecked
> with freckles as beautiful and secret as
> a first kiss. My soul to hold you for an hour!

> Beauty too divine to approach without
> equally divine words: evolution revolving
> language and lust entwined divine.

> And thinking of you all, hurts me.

> Can you imagine the cold iron catharsis of
> a single kiss? My passion so damned back
> the molten flow of lips on lips would be so
> hot as to freeze a moment when word

> and picture perfect flesh mesh pulse matching pulse

> and eternity turning at the apex of all
> release and burning. My lips struck dumb
> stuck on your flesh.

> And who we are doesn’t matter as long
> as your flesh flatters my welling unquenched
> desire. Such absolute fire will leave my
> lips screaming divine poetry in a medium
> of vibrating flesh where the is no wasteland
> between us of air or language or looks.

> But tonight I am alone, incapable of crafting
> more than a stutter, unable to match heart
> beat with any of this gorgeously packaged

> flesh.

> Unable to say for one moment how beautifully
> I behold you all. How loud the sound of my
> popping glass heart would be falling in love
> to the infinite gravity well of discovering every
> piece of your body with my native tongue

> like the native sun caressing your skin
> everyday in the dappled play of metaphor
> and enlightenment.

> The world is clear only when I’ve saturated
> my lens of love with your liquid, pure only
> when my words break the surface and find
> your more than just a face.

> Words gasping for a breath of air above the
> murky swamp of lust in which I’m lost, depleted of

> breath.

> Sharp pangs of silence that are ripping
> everything male in me chasms across
> from talking to you, leaving me only with
> the poor crutch of email

> And if I yelled, you wouldn’t even hear me now.

> Ygnacio.

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