*inspired by the song "Lover's Spit" by Broken Social Scene.
Golden red, your arms were a sinewy fence around
my form as we sat on the fire escape overlooking
a schizophrenic town.
Your lips tickled my cheek and I stroked the back
of your head, twisting
my fingers in your burnt wheat-colored strands.
"Remember when we used to get excited over
the smallest things," I asked.
"Like kissing awkwardly and
stumbling through doorways,
dragging in the scent of fresh
cut grass and angel's sweat?"
"Yeah," you said. "But let's play it out again,
baby, before Philadelphia
Maybe this time the pale violets will catch fire
instead of the tablecloth and my mother will
come out of her study and yell for me to do
something about the flames eating our house.
Then I'll have to call you on the phone and say,
"Not tonight, David."
You're a clever tease with a drama club smile,
an almost perfect posture that screams,
"Believe in me or else I'll melt into oblivion."
Especially in the beginning, I thought you
were conceited, but at the same time,
I dreamed drunkenly about tracing
the curve of your jaw and causing
color to form on your cheeks.
Lime green lightning bugs lit up the road late on a school night
and you squeezed my hand while lip-syncing to Ed Sheeran.
Inside your car, we were safe and invisible, baby.
You rested your cheek on my shoulder and I fell
for the dangerous tints of maple in your irises.
Maybe it was naive or maybe it was real;
either way, we threw caution to the wind
along with the ash from our convenience
store cigarettes and kissed hotly like nobody could stop us.
You were someone I wanted to keep forever;
tie you up with imaginary rope and trap you
The kids got the radio blasting
I'm on the sidewalk sweating
The girls know how to move to the music
I wanna get
And it's getting hot in the city
Everyone's wet and sticky
I don't mind the heat when the beat
Is getting me
On my feet
My boy's on the cord with a Popsicle
This street in the heat in the beating sun
There's only one thing keeping me downtown
Since June I've been feeling like I've lost my gravity. Not seriousness gravity, more the kind of gravity that keeps planets in orbit. I'm a planet. I'm not a sun. I need someone to orbit. I'm swayed by the gravity of others. Metaphor. Metaphor.
For a long time I orbited around Leigh. I felt right there, comfortable, knowing that - whatever 'that' might be...I think I knew when I started the sentence, but I forgot. Anyway, I gravitated to him. It was stable. It was all good.
Saturday was your birthday. I thought of you. I wondered how you were celebrating. I wondered where you were, what you looked like, whom you were with. I wondered whether you remembered me on my birthday. I wondered when was the last time you thought of me.
My dear Oasis friends,
For some time now, I've been asking myself whether or not I truly belong on Oasis, and whether the potential harm my presence might do here isn't actually far outweighing the good. My ego would like to think that I am playing an important and valuable role here, but when forced to take a serious look at myself through the eyes of others, I see how easy it would be for me to just become "that creepy old guy who hangs out on the gay teen site". That would be a disasterous thing for me, the site, and most importantly... for you.