Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Warm winds are similar to an insatiable lust. The kind where you long for something more. The sun like a deity in which we pray for a lover to lay our heads upon under the shade of love. New York was great during those hot summer days. She was forgiving, she was giving. She brought out a fever in me. The kind of fever where you love without hiding behind closed doors. The kind where every downtown corner became an intimate space to place parched lips upon your lover to quench your thirst. Every park bench became a living room, where your love was put on display for strangers to watch like some old time movie where romance was still very much alive and well. The time spent alone behind bedroom walls, bodies move slow like honey and just as delicious. When summer ends, there is no guarantee of not shedding any tears. When winter shows his wrath like a jealous lover, the pain and loneliness will not subside. Until the warmth of summer sun returns I won't feel close to you. New York was great that summer.