Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
I don't care if we wind up living in a squalid flat next to the train tracks breathing soot and dirt and too poor to eat anything good. I don't care that no one will read my horrible little stories about faggots and outcasts and junkies of the world while you sit and do your crossword puzzles. I don't care as long as I have you. You are the best thing to come into my life in a long time, Hector Marquez and I don't care about anything else.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Outside the blankets, the room is ink black and cold with clothes thrown about the carpeted floor. The smell of sweat and semen waft in the stillness mixed with cigarette vapors - but, inside the blankets it is warm and still and tranquilo. Not a word is said, but the feeling is there a fallaheen feeling of togetherness like I have not felt since...
He puts the cigarette out in the tray on the table next to the bed. We intwine tighter, he draws me near, and a small kiss on my forehead. Slowly and surely, I hear his slight breathing as he falls asleep. I lay there and stare into blackness - out in the night a lonesome train horn blows - my hand gently slides up and down his thin side coinciding with his slow, steady breathing.
Eventually, I succumb to sleep, too - dreaming of Argonauts in fiery ships...