Let Me Get Up On It
Saint Louise Was Listening On
4:21 p.m. || 2004-10-12
"Every time I see you falling,
I get down on my knees and pray,
I'm waiting for the final moment
You say the words that I can't say."
I'm jealous of her, because she has what I have wanted for a few seasons now, and it all came so easily to her, like the breath coming gentle to a baby, like the 50% change in New England foliage.
I've wondered a few times what would happen if I went for it with all my being. Throwing yourself away with the abandon of knowing that there is something out there that better suits you. I feel like I see serious patterns errupting in my sexual and marital life, I have a serial dater inside that I have tried to squealch for an eternity now. In some great way I would like this list of things from you:
I would like you to open your eyes and realize I am entirely infatuated with you, your smell, your demeanor, the gentle carriage I see in your economy of movement.
I would like you one of these days to just come through the door and throw me against the kitchen table and tell me you've thought about it forever.
I would like to hear that I've made your blood as hot as you have made mine the last couple years, even if it's just to hear that you've made me sweat, lie to me, I like that.
I would like other things that to go into specifics would give me away.
"I could be a doll baby, I could be the thing you want, I could do it all for you."
"You don't use words like that. Saint Louise is listening."