I am just a friend; that's all I've ever been...

You think you know me, but I don't know you.

I'm afraid of the way I leave you...

On a crisp morning a few months back, I returned to the battlefield; except the battlefield was gone. Huddled in the safety of the car as I turned from main street in search of 81 campus drive.

Within those walls, I had been forced into maturity by my own carelessness. It was also there that I met the boy...no...man whose hands could reduce me to single syllables. The yard stick that every other has been measured against.

So I returned, expecting to say fuck you and so long but it had already left; the building is gone. What was once a crime scene now replaced with new homes of brick and mortar.

All the flowers that you planted...

There was this one guy, let's call you Sneaker. You made me feel normal, called me on my crap, and pulled me into your world. But only for a couple of months. You were broken when I found you. I thought I would be able to help you find all of your pieces, but it turns out you were looking for those pieces in everyone else.

You left me and town, but it was because you loved me, you told me. Fucker. I'm broken now thanks to many things, but wish you could help me glue the pieces back together. There's one piece missing and I think you have it.

So do I look for that piece elsewhere? I can live without it, but don't really want to. I guess I keep looking.

Welcome to my filthy mind...

Curiosity killed the cat, so you can call me intrigued. I want to feel everything. The chill of the air conditioner is an especially nice contrast to the wet heat of these soft sheets.

Call me selfish, or maybe I am just insecure, but I want to be held. No. First, I want to be worshiped and adored. I want you to bow before me, kneel at my feet, or lay over me and give everything to me. I want your lips, soft and supple. I want your chin, stubbly or smooth.

I want to be caressed and loved. The feeling of being so deep into you that I forget what daylight is. Each movement brings a new texture that I have yet to understand. I will caress you back, if that is what you like. But who are you?

Just my imagination...

I thought you were a mature, intelligent human, but now I find you are just a scared, stupid child. You weren't who I thought you were...just an apparition of my ideal. So today, as I grab my latte and look out through dark glasses, the iPod in my ear plays songs of sadness and songs of hope. I pray for the latter to get me through the former, but only time will tell.

In the meantime, I'm still looking for that tall, dark stranger who caught my attention on the street; the gentleman who smiled and waved at me when I was in another town; the face in the crowd that makes me forget what I was going to say next; the hit-and-run years ago who reached from behind and held my hand at the concert; and the one who could make me forget the first and could become the last and not just the latest.

Patience.

How my poor heart aches...

I've not heard from you today and it feels like a loss. How can you touch me and then walk away? It's not as if we live together; that would be too easy.

You're only a couple of miles away and yet you are constantly on my mind. The evil little grin, the stubble on your chin, and the smooth skin in the small of your back (your low-rise jeans give away a lot as you step into the car).

Something in the wind tonight reminded me of you; the familiar brush across my cheek, the force at which it ripped through my clothes, the comfort as it enveloped every inch of my being, and the chill as it left me alone and cold.

At least I have the wind.

I feel happy inside...

Resting just between us, my right hand was held in nervous anticipation. It sat open and inviting on the couch as I use my left to wipe the sweat from my brow.

God, I wish he'd just touch me.

I wonder if he knew what I'm thinking. He was watching the movie intently, but I got the sense that he knows I'm watching him with the same conviction.

I thought, "Maybe if I stretch I can reposition myself so that my hand gently brushes against his. Oh no, I can't do that. He will see right through me and know what I'm up to. But, what if he then takes my hand? At least I will know that he knows and that he is interested too. Then maybe he will pull me in and kiss me. His lips on mine. I can move my hand to the back of his head and comb through his hair. I feel the curls sliding through my fingers now, they tickle."

Shit. I was breathing heavy and he's going to think I'm some perv. I had to calm down; my palms were starting to sweat and there's nothing worse than sweaty palms.

"Please don't grab my hand now. Maybe I can rub my hand on my jeans without him noticing. But I really want to rub my hand on HIS jeans. STOP THAT! I am making things so much worse," I screamed to myself.

Then he saw me move my hand, and gently grabbed it.

So far from where I've been...

This morning as I lay my arm gently across my pillow. I moved my fingertips in soft circles imagining it to be my true love's chest. Would it be hairy? Smooth? After thinking about it for a moment, I can almost feel soft swirls of hair between my fingers.

It has been a long time since I've fallen asleep in the arms of another. I sometimes forget what it really feels like.

The gentle rise and fall of my lover's chest under my cheek and "lub-dub" against my ear drum. The slight tickle of my lover's breath against my hair.

Those were much simpler times, unspoiled by money, power, or lust. Before my first love set me free into the world. "You need to see what else is out there," he had said.

It's been twelve long years, and even still I'm not so sure.

Endless rain into a paper cup...

I sit in a corner cafe; everyone at this mega-chain coffee shop seems a bit uneasy. However, it isn't the three-dollar cup of decaf that has me troubled...

I got off the bus at 7th and proceeded to pass the skirts and suits walking slowly towards 9-5 hell. I wasn't really watching where I was going, and it was not uncommon for me to bump into a few people on my way to catch a transfer uptown, so why was this day so different?

Looking left to check the traffic, I accidentally ran my messenger bag right into one of the suits' paths. When I turned to say "I'm sorry," I couldn't speak. Walking by was a man in his 30s, black hair, blue eyes, and a familiar smile. I had been making love to this man for the past 6 years in my sleep. I mouthed hello, but the man was already back on course.

"This is fate," spilled from my mouth just as the stranger got beyond ear-shot. Then the stranger turned and winked at me as he continued along his path.

Now, as I sit holding my cup to my lips wishing I'd had just done something: kissed the guy, told him my name, anything. Anything but let him walk away. I close my eyes as the warm coffee touches my lips. I kiss the stranger in this cup of coffee.