Late night at the tea house, and the scene is familiar,
lounging on velour couches, fire place roaring behind your ethnic scarf,
massages and exclamations.
someone holds the key, it's dark, and 2am.
She is blond, thin, and talks about contortion.
I sit, muscles straining behind my skin, body loosely moving to the moroccan trance music humming in my ear.
An hour before we sat on a different couch, speaking an old language, the words were rusty on my tongue, so I spoke softly, and listened to your worries.
An hour before that I lay on the plastic grass with another you, laughing at the absurdity of high school, and shaking mini acorns in our hands.
It was a late night at the tea house, a glimpse of another life.
Butt creaking the springs beneath the velour chaise as I gaze up at the oddities and found objects.
I wonder, 'what is here for me?', since spirit did not bring me to this moment by accident.
My heart aches to feel the skin of another, but I don't want it to be with you or you.
But this is the work, since judgement comes, and I'm a familiar face at the gathering,
since i've been here many times, in other cities, with stolen faces of those who became friends and more.
There is something terrifyingly eerie about feeling comfortable in any situation,
since i've been a part of every gathering before.
We dimmed the lights more,
I hugged goodbye to you all,
said I'll see you tomorrow,
and I will.
another familiar gathering,
it always begins this way.
lounging on velour couches, fire place roaring behind your ethnic scarf,
massages and exclamations.
someone holds the key, it's dark, and 2am.
She is blond, thin, and talks about contortion.
I sit, muscles straining behind my skin, body loosely moving to the moroccan trance music humming in my ear.
An hour before we sat on a different couch, speaking an old language, the words were rusty on my tongue, so I spoke softly, and listened to your worries.
An hour before that I lay on the plastic grass with another you, laughing at the absurdity of high school, and shaking mini acorns in our hands.
It was a late night at the tea house, a glimpse of another life.
Butt creaking the springs beneath the velour chaise as I gaze up at the oddities and found objects.
I wonder, 'what is here for me?', since spirit did not bring me to this moment by accident.
My heart aches to feel the skin of another, but I don't want it to be with you or you.
But this is the work, since judgement comes, and I'm a familiar face at the gathering,
since i've been here many times, in other cities, with stolen faces of those who became friends and more.
There is something terrifyingly eerie about feeling comfortable in any situation,
since i've been a part of every gathering before.
We dimmed the lights more,
I hugged goodbye to you all,
said I'll see you tomorrow,
and I will.
another familiar gathering,
it always begins this way.
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