felt so good; intentions lost
along blending boundaries
and the dimensions of instinct
lead by quarantined hearts
that beat
like astrological bodies,
in orbit, in heat...

felt so desolate; quarrels over
vague uncertainties,
sarcastic depictions of emotion
rendered in a manner
lacking communication
that falls between smiles
that betray
seemingly on the pluck of a hairpin,
small intentions moving moods
like butterfly wings...

felt so motionless; stuck in
phases of unknown negation
waiting for the other to
define your position,
tangled in the fine print
of non-existent contracts
and unrealistic expectations,
knowing why the caged bird sings
and waiting all too patiently
for some form of jail break...

felt so comfortable; like pillows
that conform to your contour
and temperatures that keep you
cozy in your own skin,
this is prescribed,
soft and aged to perfection,
ripe and easy to fit into...

felt so deviant; pain-inflicting
like executioners with hobbies
who seek only after hearts
that have yet any damage,
have yet any strain,
and like splinters to skin unharmed
we make a move for the jugular,
scratching the surface searching
for pleasure in the misery...

felt so omniscient; always
like a shadow with which
you can not travel without,
a weightless anchor,
a constant reminder,
you always likened to an old hotel,
it always like a supernatural guest,
haunting...

felt so enigmatic; forever without
a solution,
brains working over-time
to try and figure out
these rubik's cube-like hearts,
intentions encoded like crosswords,
everything jumbled and unclear,
filling in blanks
unscrambling words
deciphering things less obvious,
all without guidance,
and knowing that the solve alone
could never be anywhere near
as rewarding as the quest...

08/30/2005

Posted on 08/31/2005
Copyright © 2024 Frankie Sanchez