Unlike GOB, I wrote little on the China trip (and should have wrote more!) but found this hiding in the back pages of my documents....so....

(You win...I do miss when you're gone...or i'm gone...(sometimes)...)

I thought I tasted you this morning.

The thought, sensation, taste didn’t register until now. Pushing my way through and amongst the surrounding no one like me mass of people so completely different and separate and not me and not you. I was walking. I walking with my cart broken and wobbling full of inconsequential things, gifts, and I felt so very very fuckin alone. On my way to another plane to another city in the long list of unforgettable forgotten cities. One looks like the next. One becomes the next. There is a merge of cities and merge of experiences between one city and the next between one plane or train and the next. Between one cab ride and the next. Between anytime without you and the next.

The cities and people and rising dim sum steam in the morning all merges together day to day and trip to trip. I’m mixing up the hotel room today with the one in a different city 3 years ago. I’m mixing up the yellow stained faucet in the tub 2 days ago to the one I smashed the heel of my right foot into 2 months ago. It all merges. It all fucks together, two lovers and not a tube of lube in sight to split, clip flick them out of each other, heaving and panting and unable to benefit from a union that becomes completely inseparable

I am

Inseparable from you and forced to be separated from you for far far far too long and I hate this. I want to go home

And I have never even had a home. Rambling from one man to the next rambling from one life to the next I can’t stop I won’t stop I don’t settle down and this lifestyle all of this I was pressured forced into choosing I don’t even know if I want it if I am it if it’s me.

And everyone here yells into the same phone in the same fluctuating tone up and down and high and low and they all wear the same shows and give the same looks and walk with the same stride and follow the wallow I am sorrowing in…

I thought I tasted you this morning in the midst of a dream about the only boy I’ve ever known, who was born with roses in his eyes before I buried him alive one evening while I smoked Marlboros by his side.

I know I loved a boy who plays pianos filled with flames and watches while I pack up every piece of the life I used to love just to keep myself at least enough to carry on and off and away.

He didn’t mean to make me cry, strangling empty rings around my heart, I have to pack up every piece of the life I used to know just to keep myself enough to carry on…

And I thought I tasted you this morning. Cinnamon and smoke and the beer of the night before all milling and moving around and over my lip tongue, teeth and mouth.

Comely calmly, bristling and ugly all of my friends let me be known let be go…bright and bubbly it is you I need to say comforting things in my ear. Say what you want to say, I’ll hang for my previous days I made fetuses with words, with flesh eaten ladies of metaphors and soliloquies, plucking the strings between us…I’d rather see your face filled with flowers and keep red roses in your eyes. Then be here, surrounded by aloneness.

We met under a willow tree, its branches swooping and tickling the tips of our hair with every rushed breathe. It wasn’t the first time I kissed you, but it was the first time I meant it. It wasn’t the first time I’ve been in love, but it’s the first time I needed it. It wasn’t the first time I laid on my back on cold grass, knowing its freezing, wishing we didn’t have to walk; it was the first time I wished for endlessness. I knew by the morning we’d be gone. Everything is lonely.

The sidewalk reflects my face, the windows are polished in the morning but in the afternoon they look like shit. I know you have an empty heart; I can feel it when we kiss.

But me I’m not a gamble. You can count on me.

To stumble over the mumbles of my every very conscious second guess. It’ll take one more long kiss to convince me. I’ve got one cigarette in my pocket we can share it when it starts to rain. We you pull plastic cups out of your worn back pocket filled with champagne and gingerbread men, I think I’m almost drunk on you enough to drive through the us built beneath this willow tree.

Hang on an arm hang on my arm lead me away from everything I was ever taught from the trees before. Jump in front of the champagne in a plastic cup the bubbles moving up through my nose and into my brain, it’s too early or too late for this. Any other time I wouldn’t be here.

I think I’m drunk enough on you to drive you home away from me. I’ll keep my left eye shut when I look through you to get you back to the place I found you scuttling on a paper clip alone innerness.

When we make it, I lift my right thumb to the top of your upper lip, stopping on your bottom lip, folding the close over my thumb print closing them as you step out of the car and walk away.