There’s this girl on campus that I think
is really beautiful, and she’s Belgian, and
speaks fluent and melodic french; and hell,
that’s enough to drive any good man insane.
I haven’t really spoken to her much, just
recently over the last few days as I’ve helped
her with some reference work on a group project
she is doing, but she smiles at me whenever
she sees me now, which is just cruel.
So anyway, it’s a good indication of the level
of romantic sap that I am that I have a dream
about this girl, and in this dream there’s nothing
more than a smile and the accidental contact
of our hands, which don’t shy away but rest against
each other; like secret lovers of a more innocent
age that silently interwine fingers in the loud dark
of the opera pit. Anonymous lovers washed away
in sound and fire, burning under the skin.
And that’s it, that’s all; a dream about the contact
of hands and then I awake.
I haven’t much chance for a decadent life
when even my dreams are so tame. Which might be
a shame, were I not happy being so circumspect.
–
So I’ve been sick, flu-ish, coughing up the
sticky residue of my sins, sweating profusely and
trying to keep my brain from leaking too far out
my nasal cavity. I’ve taken this opportunity to
quit smoking; for three months, two years, I’m happy
for any amount of time to allow my lungs their
recuperation. I haven’t had coffee in days, and that’s
an addiction I’m certainly unwilling to give up;
yet still a day or two before I’m recouped enough
to recommence the onslaught of caffeine upon my body.
So that’s my excuse for my blog-silence;
that and I’ve felt like the creative equivalent
of a door-stop. Onward, then, to health and inspiration!