My name is Casey

Like Most Revelations

It is the movement that incites the form,
discovered as a downward rapture--yes,
it is the movement that delights the form,
sustained by its own velocity.And yet

it is the movement that delays the form
while darkness slows and encumbers; in fact
it is the movement that betrays the form,
baffled in such toils of ease, until

it is the movement that deceives the form,
beguiling our attention--we supposed
it is the movement that achieves the form.
Were we mistaken? What does it matter if

it is the movement that negates the form?
Even though we give (give up) ourselves
to this mortal process of continuing,
it is the movement that creates the form.

Richard Howard


You turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are icy cold
Your eyes burn bright against the frostbit sky
You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon,
Like leaves frozen on the snow
Our two shadows merge inseperably
And time stands still as its pierced with cold

The more I live
The more I know
What's simple is true
I love you

There's a warmth in my heart
That haunts me when you're gone
Mend me to your side,
Never let go
So time knows nothing
We'll never grow cold
The more I live
The more I know
What's simple is true
I love you
Twilight descends on our silhouette
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I wanna hold time, say it'll never begin
Old man winter, be our friend
Old man winter, be our friend
The more I live
The more I know
What's simple is true
What's simple is true
I love you
I love you

designed by jo naz

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

 

I've been waiting for a while until I could write this... working it out in my head, trying to figure out precisely what it is I feel... what I felt...

I know I need to write this-- not because the event itself needs words, but because it deserves words.

When I am with him, I feel like I don't need oxygen anymore. In fact, all of those low and ingrained necessities seem to flee with the immensity of my need for him. When I kiss him I don't want to stop to breathe, I'm breathing through him. His lips are a channel for my life... He sustains me.

When we touch, a hand traced across the cheek, grasping at his back, pushing hands across skin, I feel as if I've been tattooed with a sign of his caresses, and as if I were doing the same to him. It's as if I can see what I've been painting in my mind with poetry, painting wet on wet, deep lusty pigments traced by his hands across my glistening skin. I feel like those touches are eternal. I know they must be, because this is a past I will not let go of.

There's something about when I'm with him that changes how I'm supposed to be. I can remember all of those things that have happened, and I can know they are real... I can remember pain... but I don't need to withdraw, to cry, to feel pain. I can remember and I can smile, laugh... I can be so happy because of how different it is now.

When I try to explain how I feel when I'm with him, I'm at a loss for words... I have a silly simile, but it doesn't begin to explain. You can take a whole host of noises, of laughing screaming speaking yelling, and compress them into one sound a milisecond long. All of those different things, everything, every noise that has ever existed they all make one overwhelming thing that is almost painful and so beautiful but mostly incredibly intense. When I'm with him, I feel like every emotion possible explodes inside of me every millisecond.

I don't know how I can explain... and I know I don't need to... because he knows... and that's so perfect.

I love you |7:07 AM