A new concept that refers to the new trend of effective and efficient relationships for independent working women.
It is an affair - hence the secrecy. Even if it wasn't a complete secret; it is not as if women will walk around talking about it.
It is not love - hence not a 'love affair'
It is more than just sex
It is 'intimacy'
It is seeking moments of intimacy - when one can get personal with the other ... sharing their private natures with no strings attached. It is being able to be one's self in such small moments in time. It is this indescribable closeness that comes at the right dose to ease off everything else going on in the world. That small particular degree of disconnection that leaves you feeling as if there is nothing more you could ask for. Just, intimacy.
Her: I need higher ceilings Him: are you mixing your pills again? Her: did it end? Him: how could it end since it never started? Her: I thought I saw a red balloon behind that cloud Him: it was a fish flying. Stop hallucinating. Her: I saw you holding it. The thread was long Him: I was holding a toothpick between my fingers Her: Saturn is getting closer Him: it's not Saturn. It is a red balloon. And you are holding it Her: so it did start Him: shut up. I like you better when you're a fish Her: the fish doesn't think. The fish is mute. Expressionless Him: Saturn is getting closer Her: I must swim away
Today is one of those days When I feel the urge To dig a hole Under my desk Slip into it And slide downward Into a parallel reality Where it rains fireflies And snows colorful feathers A parallel reality The existence of which Is bound to the walls Of my own mind
Remember that castle we built? Yes, the one we worked really hard on Putting side by side sprinkles of dust Aligning them carefully For the whole thing not to fall apart
Remember the time it took us to build the ground floor The basics of all other layers and details We thought it was a secure foundation One that can resist winds, fires and floods
We built it to last
But last it did not
No, it was not struck by an earthly clout We destroyed it ourselves Being too concerned about its strength Too ambitious to give birth to something big Something powerful, of good foundation and everlasting
We annihilate what we care about most When we lose ourselves Overstressing how much we care
I am not hysterical. I do seem weird. To some people. During specific periods of time. I am not hysterical. Yet. I do have moments of extreme emotions. Affecting my sense of reason. But those are just moments. Moments. At least in my own perception of time. And during those moments. I find myself. Straying from the norm. I find myself. On a different cloud. Flying higher. And higher. And higher. Until I am alone. Looking down. Laughing. Hysterically. At what I am leaving behind.
A poem does not write itself No matter how alive it can seem No matter what disguise it puts on The red lipstick, the long copper hair Or the most arousing smell ever
A poem cannot write itself Without the senses of the writer It will wear her lipstick, her hairdo And her perfume It will adopt her personality Walk the way she walks And be still whenever the writer’s senses Decide to retreat to the real world
The city is sleeping But I am not I haven’t downed too much alcohol tonight To put me straight in Sandman’s Land
The city is sleeping But how could she sleep? Can’t she realize what is going on around her? Can’t she see that the world is changing? The whole universe is changing…
Doesn’t she feel fear? Can a city be this cold blooded? How can she simply close her eyes And disconnect from everything around her?
This oblivious city Turning her back on past and present Turning her back on me
This oblivious city I envy for her peace of mind
As the city sleeps I sit in my bed Daydreaming about walking in the empty streets Fantasizing about a breathe of cool air Stroking my face Lingering between the thin threads of my hair While my bare feet are being soaked Of streets wet of summer rain
As the city sleeps I feel betrayed I sit still and wonder Who will be keeping me company tonight?
The poem was lying there. On the bed, between us It wasn’t complete yet. It was forming itself Trying to fill in the blank, created by our silence The poem had a mind of its own I am not sure if it was waiting for us to create its story line Or if it was forming a story on its own Telling about this couple Lying on the bed And watching a poem being formed Silently
It wasn’t until a year later When she was in the bathtub Shaving her legs And accidentally cut her skin With the cold razor blade And saw the blood running down Without feeling an ounce of pain That she knew she could no longer feel That she knew that cuts in her soul Did have an immunizing effect Even on her flesh
In the moment before the night is completely over And before sunrays start making their way Through the fading darkness I find myself thinking about How perfectly symbiotic our bodies looked on white bed sheets
Let’s ride together the back of a butterfly And dive into a pool of our memories Break into a heaven we once shared That is now lost in a different place and time Let’s color the film strips of our photos from the past Let’s re-arrange moments of our lives Leaving the sad ones behind Let’s disconnect together, like we used to do Drift into our created shared consciousness But this time, let’s shut the doors behind us So that we never fall into reality again Never again