and every sentence that i dream up with starts with and.
and i want to think of something much much better.
and wednesday night was incredibly beautiful.
all skin and hair and tongues. all warmth and sighs. or, what you will.
but, i am just a womanish-man,
"But such as are able to buy all their own charges, they swim in the excess of these vanities, and will be man-like not only from the head to the waist, but to the very foot, and in every condition. Man in body by attire, man in behavior by rude compliment, man in nature by pursuing revenge, man in wearing weapons, man in using weapons, and in brief, so much man in all things, that they are neither men, not women, but just good for nothing...
To you therefore that are fathers, husbands, or sustainers of these new hermaphrodites, belongs to the cure of this impostume. It is you that give fuel to the flames of their wild indiscretion. You add the oil which makes their stinking lamps defile the whole house with filthy smoke, and your purses purchase their deformities at rates, both dear and unreasonable."
But, no, that's not me.
for i possess breasts and a waist that men still glance toward, supposing i'm in the correct attire.
men that never glanced for more than a moment, i've seen tugging my shirt down with the sinking of their eyelids.
i hate, and love it.
And Antonio, with your high bleached socks, i see your lust. And although i should ignore it, or grind it until you no longer contrive ways in which to face me, i cannot.
because i am selfish.
but maybe that's me. for i'm either too forward, too male, and turn passion into repulsion.. or feed on the innocent.
sexuality is disgusting. and fantastic.
but maybe it's just the vanity that we're all so fond of. we love our bodies, share our bodies, long to see other bodies.
(and i'd give it all up, just to get to know the smell of your skin.)
- another sentence imagined and fondled, waiting to crawl onto a digital page -
i never felt so honest.