Here in my heart I got your numbers

I want to talk with you
Burning ice in my mind
And like I can never remember the number
On your door
That is all gone away from me
You are beyond my calls
Though that doesn’t stop this want
Or wasted tears
Washed away
By time drifting in on your silence
There is nothing left to say
Except maybe repeat apologies
Mumbled half built stories
From regret
But I got your numbers
Here in my heart

I live amongst immortals…

I live amongst immortals…

I cannot understand them otherwise.
Friendships mean nothing:
another will arrive shortly.
Thoughts of tomorrow are banned:
more days like these will occur.
Understanding is not for them:
Rationale disturbs endless dreaming.
Immortals hold no place for destiny
For they are destiny and death of desires.
I cannot fathom them, place their depth:
Their journey is not to sea or the source.
I envy them their complacent wisdom:
Theirs forever in solitude is to go on.
Mortals fear from moment to moment:
Death is ever present upon them.
Immortals do not wither or writhe:
Beauty cannot disturb their slumber.
I live amongst Immortals and fear:
I cannot awaken them or seize their prize.

The weight

My dick didn’t really fuss me too much as a kid, there was the usual football, foot or slip on the handlebars that emphasised I had one, but those withstanding it held no real importance. That changed of course once adolescence and it weight kicked in. I’ve had no arguments with having one, ever, sure its led me into strange situations and newer varieties of danger but we never argue, dick is too important to lose friends with.
I’ve wandered the streets dazed with lust seeking prey to plunge it into, the thought that girls/women may be seeking satisfaction too never entering into view ’til many many years later. Girls were supposed to not want this, their fannies were meant to be given up after promises of undying love, struggle and exercise of control after they saw our desperate sweating faces and concluding that they had now gained the upper hand. That’s how this lengthy battle seemed to me.
There were the girls who were easier to persuade than others, those I held against walls, lay next to in long grass fields, fingers exploring their hot bodies, touching into sticky rubber flesh and exploring open goldfish gasping mouths. These all merge into one now, names passed by in youthful excess where another would come along any minute, and this was true: I was young, mobile and lust led me everywhere on the prowl. There were wild girls out there too, girls having their own adventures, stealing buses, wine from stores and later waiting legs wide, excited, ready and wanting more. I can tell you of her soap smell, the touch of damp cotton, her breath on my neck, but her name exists only for her now and to guess only diminishes my remembering. Of goat girls escaping after dark from parents only too knowing of young boys needs, to lie under black night and stars, hands reaching to hold something safe during those scaredy years of total shift that is puberty. Sex was one of the few things we had that older people had no share in, those teen years escaping the prying eyes, ways of parents, teachers, police, anybody and everybody felt that they could tell us who we were, attempt control. Sure, we heard them as wanting the best for us but knew their care as punitive.
I was seeking love in fumbles, mumbles and lust, essentially a losers mix, though I would not know this for many years to arrive. First I had to seek and continually never find. Virginity was a prize to be sought though I never quite figure out why, other nascent cocksmen and I would compare notes over stolen wine, hiding from rain and discovery in draughty bus shelters. Discounting the bragging and natural disbelief we found newer conquests from others leavings. Pregnancies and diseases were less of a worry than discovery by authority figures, we were out for sex, that was good and surely nothing bad could come from It? And that seemed truer then than now, girls/women ‘falling pregnant’
Only happened when we seemed financially able to support the squealing output of our quests. ‘Falling’ pregnant reflects to me the denial of responsibility of girls/women, nobody ‘falls’ they get pushed… decide to neglect contraception, themselves or just fuck around. All of these are choices in responsibility, if you accept that I must sit here now and accept my irresponsibilities then I need company, don’t push me back to that place I was then: alone, cold, feeling the lack of love and direction.
I’d love to tell you of great excitements, passions and love that never dies, this would be untrue. They were days of petty excitements, the first fingers in fannies, wanks from pretty girls, cocks in unsure cunts, then driftings away as we lacked necessary skills to secure relationship from or for each other. I have seen them since, many years on, these girls turned to wives, mothers, teachers, social workers, they look back blank eyed not knowing if they know me, whether they should acknowledge furtive fumblings from times gone. I have even less to offer them now than I did then, at least then I wanted them, wanted what they may or may not give in my misguided searching for love. To say hello may acknowledge for them they may too have once wrapped their arms upon lust, the wanting carrying no names only urges, that they too were young, dumb and wanting to come. Their eyes are blank now, whatever it was they found in exchange for their fannies has diminished then rather than elevated, their joy of life seems escaped. Their husbands too exist in half light, those would be cocksmen, right hands a blur into the night, those men who toasted erections and women fucked into submission, now shuffle, feet scraping deck as they stumble onward blinking in forgetfulness of what it was they once had.
‘Follow your dick’ for there lies enlightenment I’ve been told, follow your dick and follow into trouble, follow your dick and lose your mind. Follow your dick make all your thoughts balls. Follow your dick, hang around in the dark with two mutes for company. Follow your dick, piss into the wind, following my dick has led to strange bedfellows and the enlightenment that I don’t want to be here again.
Following my dick led me into bed with an aquaintance and his girlfriend, she was thirty years older than I, skinny as a feral cat and wanted us both to make her day. Arnie was overweight, over bearing and too needing to be a friend, though we shared other interests. He suggested she gave the best blow jobs ever and was a great fuck, I was in need of such at the time, having been by myself for some time. We drank some beers together, me watching the lust grow in her face as the evening moved closer to its denouement. How to make the shift to bed is always the rub, they left first, I could hear the bedsprings squeal as they began then stop. Arnie standing there in Housecoat and socks, inviting me in, her, sheets up to chin, smiling to break the glass. Arnie sliding back into bed, her head disappearing under covers as I undressed in the dim light. Her hand reaching for me, pulling me in, then her mouth finding my cock, sucking deeply, taking all in. Her rhythm growing as she moved to her knees, Arnie began pumping into her cunt, ramming her mouth deeper onto my cock. Him smiling, telling me how great this was, how her blow jobs were better ‘cos she took her teeth out… wanting to stop tight there but mouth growing hungrier as he fucked her harder and harder. They stopped, wanting one cock in her arse one in her cunt, feeling Arnies balls banging against mine as she squealed with her arse full of him. Feeling her wide, wet from his cock, labia spread and mouth now wanting to kiss me, talk to me of her excitement, feeling full of cocks, wanting spunk in her mouth, cunt and over her face, wanting more, more. Watching her howl as we came into her, over her, watching her spread our come over tits, face, stomach, plunging her fingers into her cunt to taste more. Wanting to be gone from this though frozen in space by amazement at seeing a woman totally absorbed in sexual experience, excitement. She wanted to go again but I couldn’t face it, I fell asleep in the other room as they went at it again.
About dawn I felt a mouth find my cock, sucking deeply, licking, stroking my balls, fingers gently finding my arse, wanking cock until I came. I lay there passive, feeling my come sucked out of me, not wanting her to stop, wanting the suck, wanting deeper, wetter, more licks, then spent, lying still, wanting sleep again. Then a voice telling me how good that was, it wasn’t her! It was Arnie… Arnie had just sucked me off and now began to tell me that I could have either, both of them at anytime, anywhere I wanted. I was wide awake now. I mumbled something, anything I could to cover confusion and when he left the room, dressed and ran away. Enlightenment? Yeah.
To find enlightenment I followed pussy into living together, sounds hollow, shallow, but I can’t think, find any other reasons for living with some of the people I did. All those pretty girls whose friends I fucked when they weren’t around, or taken their eye off the plot. Those who so mindless they couldn’t find their way around towns given directions, maps and abilities to talk to strangers, those who daily left irons to burn through ironing boards, those who needed instructions to get over their days. I was so into myself that I never saw the traps here, the pits wanting bodies to fill, the fault lines drawn by breath, cold as January on the pain of our loves. I thought then that lust would carry us into brighter futures, that love John Wayne’d was on its way to plainly speak truth, but missed our rock strewn playing fields: we weren’t playing the same games, with same chance drawn hands or for same wagers. I wanted to be set free, to move out of the ancient mariner fear I carried and they needed a daddy to cherish them into the dawn. We couldn’t speak of this, not knowing of it then and now they would name me foolish for wanting a peace in a place where sand lines were drawn unnegotiated long ago. This albatross hangs needing a strong breeze to dislocate, the past interred denies this.
If I could leave me alone none of this could carry, though these experiences scar by so many lovers drawn into dust. Their secrets unspoken defy me to write and call into pitch to purge them and I. Secrets laugh at the holding into preciousness of their nonsense, the times urged to not tell of themselves. Arnie and his unbidden cocksucking, Phil on his pre wedding stag night doing the same, eyes burning to not tell of his secret needs in the early light as he tried not to wake me. Of Sue’s and crimes of submission, Sarah’s and vaginismus: needing lesbian dominance stories to wake her libido or Thea’s and handcuffs. These all tawdry to tell but powerful by their absence in others unknowing. This is enlightenment created by cock?

Dark Haired

She was beautiful
in that dark
haired eyed
beautiful way.
she wasn’t beautiful enough
to drag me
from whatever it was
caught my eye.
she was clever
in all the right
she wouldn’t blow me in the movies.
She could cook
even if some
of her offerings
were burnt
tasted strange
kind of like her in the night
when I tried…


I figure out, Finally
not to call her.
Writing myself notes to hang near ‘phones
and I’m good
but then
of course she calls me…
I try for polite
distance, even.
She notices
asks what’s up
and I can’t
don’t want to tell
feeling my resolve melt
insides wearied again
I think
few more months of this
Sartre was wrong
Hell isn’t others
It’s being me
At the end of this shit.
Perversity of course is that I call her
and she does the distance stuff
and I’m glad
and I’m not alone
and this is finally over
there’s no remorse
relief only at the end of each ‘phone.