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A Few More Lines – taken and written

A few more lines taken, and now a few more written?

“I’ve got flower and powder. Both are fire”, he says.

“O.K, I’ll take the latter. I have a bill for you”.

And that was that. He showed up, we sat on my porch. He smoked a blunt while I rocked in my chair. This is the second time I’ve seen him, after meeting my new “him”. It doesn’t matter to me anymore if he knows. He tries a few of his manipulative lines.

“So, I bet you two will have fun tonight” he probes, trying to get confirmation of my solidarity or guilt. Who knows.

He looks so much different now. Both to the human eye, but more importantly through my eyes. He’s lost so much weight as a vegetarian . Always maintaining his sculptured build that he was blessed with, but he must be less than 140 pounds now. He’s grown out his thick black hair, and let his beard take over, what I know to be a baby face, underneath. He’s always well dressed in his Miami inspired attire, but he has white beaters on. No limited addition, stand in line for 3 hours, prestine “kicks”.

He spends time looking down at his phone, and I stare at him. There will always be that faint attraction. The nostalgia of when we were partners in crime. Living a crazy life of making money, exploring and critiquing every restaurant and bar, then coming home to indulge in other things. Painful, but pleasureful things. Most of which I don’t remember. . .

He looks up, and I’m already back to rocking in my chair.

 

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A Day in The Life

I woke up this morning next to him, the sun just starting to filter into his room. His back was towards me, my body pressed, and slightly stuck to his skin from the humidity. I smiled to myself as my left hand began to trace the light house on his back.

An art piece that wasn’t finished, just an outline with visible broken lines and novice shading. He told me once,

“People place too much importance on tattoos. I just go for it, and don’t look back”.

I’ve always envied his free spirited, carelessness. His piercings, gauges, body mods, and works of art. Some in progress, some complete. . Beautiful in their own imperfections of his passions.

The Joker. Batman. Scenes from The Nightmare Before Christmas. A giant eagle grasping a pot leaf and a bottle of bourbon spread across his chest. And of course, the unfinished light house.


I slept the majority of the day, attempting to evade the ever growing list of responsibilities. “Adulting”, my best friend would call it. I think I am a professional procrastinator, but without the typical underlying stress.

Now, I’m three lines deep – motivated to write, chain smoking, while sweat beads on my skin. I love this porch. . . I can feel my heart beat ever so faintly increasing as it starts to kick in. The mania has me thinking about that light house, tempted to throw on some clothes and go. Maybe get an imperfect portrayal of one of my passions branded on my skin.