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Unfathomable
Miscellany
Loryn
As He Does
He makes me feel like I want to take a shower, like I should put on a fresh face and pretty eyes just so I can sit with thick headphones that block all other noise and listen to him. Listening to him between words; mingling time and space--his with mine. His voice deep and soft, even drunk, swirls into my ears filling me with shadow words and linguistic tingles like so many subtly placed kisses of accented whispers and lilting phrases.
Sometimes, among the electronic hiss and click, among the ongoing ramble of the recorded words, there is a soft stumble of his tongue, maybe an awkward pause. Still, his words fall like a gentle arm around my shoulders, touching me like a cool hand on the back of my neck, wordfingers tracing lazily at the nape. He teases me quietly with his sentences, his selected poems slip into my being so discreetly yet leave a trail of thoughts wider than a shotgun blast.
He makes me want to sit, hunched over in a corner, scribbling out the melancholy fantasies, prodding the lethargic words out from their hiding places. He makes me want to lash out and spit fire when interrupted from my frantic ink to paper meditation.
He makes me want to write.