Tuesday, July 6, 2010

cell phone chronicles

Dag... I didn't even write on my birthday this year.

Oh well. It was yesterday. (*bows* Thank you for the belated wishes :)

So yeah, I owe you an update... still. The one on Tennessee you can probably forget... I'll probably document that experience at some later point in a poemthought. The one on Miami... I'm not sure when that will happen.

I guess I could do it now. Eh, no thanks.

Instead, I'm bringing you something called the cell phone chronicles, a cute little name for poemthoughts I wrote on my phone during times when grabbing a piece of paper and pen would have probably spoiled the immediacy of the thought. (And probably the moment as well.)

(all these poemthoughts are typed verbatim, as they would be seen if you were looking at my phone, though we know you would never, ever do that.)

Mon, Jun 28 8:57 am
I am chained to his bed, though his hands remain at his sides, dormant and tanned. He breathes imperceptibly, the whisper of slumber and I stare into his spirit, impossible to part with him for the most mundane teeth brushing, or existing too far away from his fragrant warmth.

(I was at work, and I'd had the opening third of the first sentence in my head while I was driving to get to work. Once I got there, I tried paper and pen but it didn't work, and I couldn't tune out the kids around me, but the phone in my hand did the trick, though it never went as far as I wanted it to.)

Sat, Jul 3 1:21 am
The world stops when he talks to me, even in a crowded club drunk as fuck, my hips stop swirling and my attention is lost on the hood music, because all I can see are his needs, all I need is his touch, all I want is him. I don't give a fuck about what I look like with my face in my phone's screen, all that matters is him, just like the night I met him here and my lips were stuck to his like a bee to the most delectable honey. The songs fly by, the people go to and fro, the grinding to the air is lost to my love for him, formed way before we ever became friends, lovers, or homies.

(I was inebriated, in the club, texting and writing into my phone. I'd completely stopped dancing and lost all interest in the music at hand. I'm pretty impressed--I'd remembered that I had spent time writing something, but I hadn't read it until this minute.)

Sun, Jul 4 11:13 am
All those chances to photograph him, I know why I didn't. Because I wanted him to always be in the now, living in my mind's eye in the many ways I remember him, not trapped inside one particular frame on some specific day.

(I was right next to him, thinking about why I never take pictures of him, when this thought came to mind. This is probably my favorite one.)

Sun, Jul 4 6:00 pm
He says he will definitely have sex in my absence from the everyday life we've created in one another, and he states that I will too--it's not an if but a when. I don't flinch at this fact, but laugh at his practicality. He's right--we will both have sex with people who aren't the other. This is reality. This is something I can deal with. But when he starts giving those excited eyes to someone else and makes his comforter smell like someone else's sex, that's when I will hold my breath and pray that the prayer for my heart actually went through. One of these days she's going to find she forgot how to exhale.

(I lied, this is probably my favorite because of the ending line. I wrote this on the way to Miami... while I was driving. #dontjudgeme [and don't judge me for finally employing the wonders of this hashtag foolishness from Twitter] Yeah, this is my favorite.)


Anonymous said...


Miss Malorie said...

:) Thank you!

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