My Baby's Got a Secret

I want to know your secret. I see it. Every day. In the corner of your mouth, in your eyes, in the curve of your hips, in the skin on your hands. Some nights I lay in bed and I ponder, how deep does it go? How far could I reach before you stopped me?

I think of you. And I worry about me and you and how we feel when we touch. Is it warm for you? Does it feel hot like it does to me? Your secret is electric and I'm wired for another taste of it. I like the shock. I like the thrill. I like the speed at which you race through me.

I'm restless tonight and its all your fault. I'll stay up late, wondering how you feel. Wondering what you would do if I told you just how good it is when you're close to me. Would you try to steal my breath, just to hear me gasp? I think you would, because I would if I were you.

How deep could I go? How far would I be willing to reach before I pulled away? You lock yourself up tight. I see you in your tower and I think of you and a white horse and how I want to ride away with you on the back of it with your hands around my waist. You're wrapped up in red gauze and I want to pull it away and see you the way you are when no one is looking.

I think I share your secret. I think I know where it lies. I think I could take it and run my hands through it and know that you and I are more alike than we'd either one like to admit. You and I are running on the same plane, to the same place, and we race like there's no one else in the world who sees us. We're bound up together and I can feel you all around me.

But I've spotted you and I think you see me coming. I can hear it in your breath and I can feel it in the air. I've got eyes like a cat in the dark and I'm looking for the place you hide.

You Can't Touch Me- Oh I Bet You Want Me Now

You look at me and you think you know what I want
You see me in my short skirts
With my hair down
And my eyes dark and glittering
And you think you know what I want

But I'm not so sure

Late at night I whisper
You know my secrets
You know my fears
And you see me culed up tight
to protect myself
And you think you know what I am

But I don't think you do

Tonight I want your eyes to glitter
just like mine
I want your hands to tangle in my hair
I want your breath on my neck
I want your whispers in my ear
Telling me your secrets

But I don't think you will

You hear me beg
And you listen to the sound of my voice
urgent and pleading
desperate and needy
And you think you know what I want

But you don't

I want your heartbeat against mine
The scent of your skin around me
The taste of your breath just
A hearbeat away
A moment, a wish
A second filled with everything

But I can't

You look at my legs
You see the way I wrap them tight in boots
Leather and cold metal
Like I could kick something hard
If I wanted to

And I do

Tonight I want safety
And the weight of you
Sleeping in my arms
I want your sighs
Your dreams
Your warmth
Your need

And I think I have it
Almost

You look at me as I rest
And you think that you know me
As I dream
As I walk
As I escape from all of this

And you might

Look closer at me
Look past the boots
Look past the skirts
Look past the longing and need
And see me

See what I am

A girl- frightened
A woman- confused
A cat- waiting to be caressed
A fury- waiting to strike
A storm- waiting to break

Wait and watch me

Comfort me tonight
Tell me its okay
Stroke me softy
Dodge the blow
Ride the storm

You might know me then
Maybe

I Walk Alone

So, I'm in a mood. I want to write, but I'm finding nothing but that solid brick wall that most of us in the profession lovingly refer to as "writer's block." To be honest, to me it sounds like somthing hard to bang your head against to shake the ideas loose. It is not. Its more like a huge void of nothing that comes off the blank page and threatens to swallow you whole, churning you in a ceaseless washer that scrubs your brain blank and sings a song that sounds something like this: "you suck, you suck, you suck, give up, give up, give up." Now, the appropriate response of any true writer is to buckle down and write anyway, telling that nasty washer to go eff itself.

I'm trying to do that. I really am.

So I'm hanging out here, in my little plastic castle, and trying to think of what exactly I want to do with the blank page next. Until that time comes, I'm blogging, because blogging is writing, even if it isn't my novel, and honestly, as long as I keep writing, I keep reminding myself that there is a book to be written and I won't forget about it. I've even left myself a helpful little post-it right below where my eyes go at the bottom of the screen reading "write damnit!"

I'll write.

Until then, here we are. You get useless bits of nothing that I may or may not do something with if the moment presents itself.

A collection of random thoughts to follow...

Did you ever look at someone in the reflection of the light of the television and suddenly see them in a completely distoted or strange way? I'm actually a firm believer in not having a television in the bedroom for this reason. I used to, in fact, for most of my adult life I did. Now I do not, and I'm glad for it. Likewise, I do not have a computer in my bedroom. Right now that has more to do with the fact that we don't have room and I don't have a laptop. But I think I'd like to keep it that way. Despite the fact that sometimes I would very much like to have all of my playlists at my fingertips ends in the bedroom, I'd like to keep the bedroom from ever being associated with work, and lets face it, if I am ever a successful writer, I'm going to associate the computer with work.

I've been dying for spring weather lately. I think this is a result of the warmer weather we've been having, but its strange for me. I generally don't care for warm sunny weather. I like the milder, cloudier fare most days. Even in the spring and summer I am more likely to enjoy a rainy day than I am to enjoy a sunny one. Chalk that up to my fair complexion or my aversion to being hot, I'm not sure...However, as of late, there isn't much more that I want than a soft quilt, some thick, green grass and a mild sunny day in the upper seventies. I want to grab some water, a cooler stocked full of berries and cheese and fresh bread and a good book. I want to take off my shoes and prance through the grass in a way that I'm sure rather indicates that I am unused to running barefoot through it, but wouldn't be averse to getting used to the feeling of it at all.

I want a pair of leather pants. I'm not sure why, but I was thinking about this earlier in the day. I have no where to wear them, I don't go clubbing anymore, and god knows what I would wear with a pair of leather pants, but I do want a pair. I nice, tight, tailored pair. Black, I think. This is probably a compulsion brought on by an odd bout of admiration for my own body, I'm not sure. Every now and again I'll get itno a mood and think I'm pretty cute. I wouldn't even say I feel that way now, but I like my legs pretty well and I think they'd look cute in a pair of leather pants.

I've realized Ihaven't posted any new pictures of myself here or on facebook in a while, and I keep thinking I might need to do that. If only for my own peace of mind, because honeslty, I'm rather sick of looking at old pictures of me that really look nothing like me anymore. In thinking of this, I also remember that I was looking at a picture taken of me on Kitten and I's honeymoon thismorning, and my hair was only just past my shoulders. In two years its reached down the center of my back. I keep wondering when I'm going to cut it, but every time Ifeel the compulsion I remind myself that I look like Harry Potter with short hair and if I cut it any length between my shoulders and where it is now, I'll just be bitter I cut it. So it keeps growing. Of course, I live in fear of having that long hair that most people look at and think "that looks gross, why doesn't she cut it or do something with it" so I have to make sure it looks nice when I am wearing it down, which isn't often given I work so much. In the mornings, nothing is more daunting than the thought of taking the time to blow dry my hair and straiten it before I go to work. I just don't like getting up that early. Most days, its in a bun. I should probably change that, since it makes me look like a rather mousy, if severe librarian.

I'm really vain.

We've been batting around the idea of where we would like to go on vacation next year, and it was looking like we were going to go dog sledding, but then the idea of a dude ranch came up and that does sound rather fun. Also, I know more about how to ride a horse than I do about how to make a dog pull a sled. Educational, both...but what would be more relaxing? Of course, I would be delighted to take off and go back to Portland, but since we're planning on moving there, it seems more like I shouldn't choose that as a vacation desitnation again. Of course, I think going to the grand canyon would be fun. I love the idea of Hawaii but that involves planes and me risking getting poisoned by fish at every restaurant we eat at, so maybe not. I also want to go backto Disney world, but lets face it, I should probably save that one for our 5th or 10th anniversary. (By the way, random thought, did you know Kodak is filing for bankruptcy? They print all the disney maps...) So, no certain answer there. Honestly, I think I could probably justlet the girls decide and be happy wherever we go.

Yeah...so that's some of the silly things running through my head at the moment. Nothing important, or terribly literary I'm afraid.

There's some images I've been batting around in my head, though whether or not they're meant for writing or just because I'm the way I am I'm unsure of.

I like the thought of hands. The fingertips especially. In my mind I see a pair of hands playing together, trasing eachother. I see one set of fingers pinching the tips of the others, before folding softly into the other hand. I like the curve of the ends of the finger, the way the nails look on a pair of hands that have been roughened by work. I like hands that aren't entirely soft, but rather ones that are textured and have character. I like the look of hands at work ,whether they are on a computer or doing something more tactile. I like the way they look. I like how they make me feel. Of course, the thought of the hand and the fingers make me think of touching, not in a sexual way, but rather just as a way of communication, of telling someone you are there, that you love them, that you know they need you, or that they are special and important in some way.

i've been obsessed with smiles lately. I like the curve of lips. I like how a smile can mean so many things. I like that one smile can mean love, when the other one might mean disdain or mocking. I like the idea of a smile communicsating more than just happiness, but understanding, compassion or humor. I like how people smile differently. Some smile with their teeth, some smile with one side of their mouth only. Some never show teeth at all. I like how a set of full lips thins out when a person smiles, or how a set of thin lips becomes almost nothing but a pale pink line. Yes, smiles are nice indeed...

Oh, my, I do know how to ramble don't I?

I think I've hit upon something though, so I must run out on you, and find my ramble elsewhere...

By the by...if there's ever anything you would like me to write about, an emotion, a feeling, an experience...anything really, I'm always looking for fodder for a good story...

AGxx

You're Uninvited

I glance over the rim of my coffee cup to the clock on the wall. It reads 7:23. I blink and you come through the door with a smile on your face. Your cheeks have been whipped rosy by the cold wind outside and I can see that you're cold by the way you hug your coat to yourself despite the warmth of the room. I curl my toes in anticipation. I can't wait for you to put your arms around me.

I blink.

7:24

The steam slowly rises as I sip from the cup and when I close my eyes again I see your smile still. I see you looking at me across a table in a crowded restaurant, and you're laughing at something I've said. The lights shine in your eyes, and the sparkle in them is only something I half imagine.

I see the curve of your mouth as you sip your wine and I can almost taste it as I lean across to kiss you. But I never do because I can't work up the courage.

I go back to my coffee and staring out the window and I tell myself that I must take time this evening to think of something that isn't you. The sky is pink and orange and green around the edges and I think to myself that maybe it will snow tonight.

7:36


The flurries begin to fall and they dance around the window pane in a hurried rythm I can barely make out. As it begins to collect in tiny drifts in the corners of the sills I think of how it will look in the morning with the streets covered and glittering.

We went sledding last year on these tiny saucers that looked like frisbees on huge and flat and red and blue. We climbed in your truck and I could barely move I was so bundled up from the cold and we drove to a park full of hills and laughing children.

I remember your plaid scarf and the way it looked garish and bright and clashed with the tone of your skin and the color of your knit winter hat. I remember you making fun of my earmuffs and how they made me look like I was ten years old. I remember reaching up to touch them with my gloved fingers and feeling the hardness of them on my ears. But I was warm. And I laughed.

We hit that ice patch at the same time, right towards the end. Do you remember? We both flew off the sleds and landed on our backs, moaning and laughing at the same time. We crashed, and you fell onto me when we tried to stand up. I remember how my feet were hot with cold and how my head was spinning from the fall. I remember that as I laughed I thought of how you felt right then with your head on my shoulder and your arm flung out across me. I remember thinking that maybe, if my boot weren't crammed into your knees, how it might have felt nice.

Do you remember?

7:45

I pull the blanket tight around me as the cold sets in. The heater kicks on with a low growl and I savor the smell of the warmth coming through the heaters. I bury my toes in the cushions on my couch and I think of the night you stayed over because you couldn't drive.

I dug extra blankets out that night. You teased me and called me a cover hog. You laughed at me for having so many blankets in my closet. Preparing for a blizzard, you said. I must be waiting for the snow that ends the world.

We curled up in my bed together, and you teased the cat over the side of the bed. I remember the sound of her growling and playing with you, her claws skittering across the hardwood floor as you dangled a sock over the side to play with her.

You fell asleep next to me that night and I remember laying there and thinking to myself how beautiful and perfect you were with your lashes resting on your cheeks and the sound of your soft snore echoing through my bedroom. I remember the heat of your body as you wound yourself around me, and the feeling of your legs as you slid them between mine.

I remember how you woke in the morning with a terrible hangover and how you told me I was the best friend you had as I made you breakfast. I smiled at you, and I stroked your hair, and I handed you a bloody mary and looked away.

8:01

My coffee is cold and the smell of it is almost sickening, even from its place on the table in front of me. Its sweet, musky scent fills the room and I have trouble not noticing it, even with my face pressed against the glass. It fills me, like thoughts of you, and I can't really escape it no matter where I put that glass.

I walk to the kitchen where we had dinner together just last night, and I sit it gently on the pile of dishes we left there because we didn't really feel like cleaning up. I sit down at the table and I look around the room and try not to think of laying in your arms on the couch and how you laughed at my desperate need to cuddle to stay warm.

You should laugh, I suppose, because I don't care for the warmth so much as the heat of your body next to me, your arms wrapped around me, your breath skimming over my hair and blowing it out of place.

8:05

I think of how you looked at me last night and there was something in your eyes that made me look twice. Something I don't normally see. Something like sorrow, or a wish you won't speak out loud. I wonder to myself if its pity, because you see in me all the things I feel for you. Maybe you pity yourself for noticing. Maybe its nothing at all and you were thinking of something I won't ever know about.

8:12

The door opens, and you come in, stamping the cold out of your feet as the snow swirls into the tiled entryway.

You smile.

I smile back at you.

When you open your arms to me I don't stop and think, I don't wait. I go to you. And for a moment, the clock disappears.

You Made Me Feel Like a Million Bucks

The sweet scent of your skin is the most comforting thing I know.

The soft glow in your eyes is the meaning of love.

The tender quiet moments are the ones that mean the most.

When I lie down at night, its thoughts of you that put me to sleep. I dream of your voice and your touch and your kiss. You rock me softly through the night with the comfort of your presence. I always know you're there. I always know I'm safe.

If I could get lost in a warm wooded place, I would want it to be with you. I could turn my face to the breeze and sing with the birds and I know you wouldn't laugh. You would be there with me, your voice with mine, your touch soft against my hands. I know that in that perfect quiet, that sweet peace, you and I could find surrender together. I find it when we're alone, when no one is looking but you and I. I know it when you smile at me, and there's a secret hidden in the curve of your mouth, and you beg me with each glance to learn it from you.

I find it when we are dancing together, your body and mine moving without needing to think. I find happiness and warmth with your arms around me, and security and peace and the beginnings of joy.

When you tell me you love me I know that somehow I've done something right, however many things I've done wrong- because I would never have found you if I hadn't.

When you grin at me I know I've found someone who finally knows me, who knows when its okay to tell me I'm silly, and just the moment to comfort me tenderly and tell me that really, its okay for me to be just the way I am. You and I know, each moment we're together, that life is a perfect, precious stolen moment and we're sharing that moment together.

I want it to go on always because being with you is the only way I can be me.

I love you.
AGxx

Drinking the Dawn

The sun was being born, brilliant and startling and I was in your arms. I was being remade, strange and trembling as I felt you all around me. And there, in that moment, I felt my pulse like I never had before. It beat in my lips and against my chest in a frightening display of rebellion and ecstasy. I could feel the room flashing about me as my eyelids fluttered and I was undone.

The room spun, and it took you with me- tumbling over again and again as I learned myself from the tips of your lips. I took each lesson, a long drink at your mouth, and found I was drunk on the feeling of you knowing who I am. I could see it in your eyes and the flash of your teeth as you smiled down on me and tore through me with speed and accuracy.

I find myself wondering idly what you saw in my eyes in that moment.

I could tilt my head back and beyond the brilliance of the sun, and the spinning, and the light that danced up from out of my mouth and into yours; I could look up and see the dust in the sky, the shadows of each planet and the stars hiding their faces. The heat of that moment was too much for them to bear. I felt their pulse too, and only in fleeting moments can I remember it without the pain they surely felt at seeing us together.

That moment, with you, I could feel the earth open up and wrap itself around me, just as you had. I could feel my hands and my feet and my nails and my hair being bound up in it, tight- so tight that I almost stopped completely. I can hear now that soft escaping sigh, the release so quiet I could hardly confess it, and I remember the feeling of the earth, your skin, coming up soft and sweet smelling between my fingernails.

I remember like the wind, the way my hair fell, tangled and confused as you took me over. Soft, tossed, like silk spun in secret at twilight it carried its own whisper. Never stop. Never go. This is too much, and enough and I am so soon empty and aching for more of what I've lost. Gather me up, hold me tight, braid me into a tale of sweetness and perfection I cannot believe but must.

There's a soft velvet purring in my chest. The sun rises higher in the sky. I close my eyes, I wait for dark. I wait for you. There is nothing but this moment, my memory, my heartbeat and the hope of another dawn with you.

AGxx


Postscript-

As you can see, I sat down to write a normal post and nonsense came out instead. My apologies. I'll be returning to my regularly scheduled redundancy as soon as possible.

Does anyone have any topic suggestions?