02.28.2004 3:22 pm
locomotion

I am a horrible person.

[Massive Attack - Inertia Creeps]

I can feel myself reaching out for attention... Avoiding chores... living on memory.

The bellydance last year.

Once upon a time I seduced a man on a cliff. We had sex on the hood of a Ford, overlooking the sea. The moon was full.

Blame it on the moon.

He asked for my phone number, and I wouldn't give it to him. He was thirty-four. I was twenty. I skipped through who I could, that summer. A moth to light, lost in the darkness between.

Something slow, the inner thigh. Turning twisting around my hip, pressure lonely pulling taut - slow, like engine grease. Something dirty, something of wrenches and blue union suits. A vision of trains cutting through midwestern dust. Longing sounds like "taah." Parallel iron rails scoring the horizion, farther than breath. Flushing shining engines, obliterating the sun. Forged, cast, looming. Taller than three men and longer than sunset in summer. To touch something stronger than yourself is hot, hard. But you don't want to watch from afar. You want to be there, lying on the ties, warm enough to burn.

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