The Lover's Hood
loverhood resists definition.
i’m definitely one of those girls that wished her single aunt would just adopt her and we’d go all bonnie and clyde on figuring life out.
and i’m not saying that has to be love. but everything else i could call love would miss this. it’s probably just timing.
love looks different on every face, and impossible the next day.
anything could be love if you're careful.
and i could describe. oh, it's all i want to ever describe. but I can not- scratch that- will not define it.
it's terrible & full of skin. & everything they say is true. but oh, they were so stupid about it. & love talks, love moves without talking- love burns in blood & singes the heart- love writes letters and calls it art- love twists in the bed, and unfolds in the head- love holds the gaze, cradles it.
and now, we’re swimming in the words.
inside out, i find myself in your arms. i like where you look when it all spills over. i like how i look when you look.
like clockwork, we wind back here everyday. tension, release, tension, release, a serpent around my neck. it rains over the hood. i fall apart.
when i told my dad i was bisexual, he seemed annoyed that i had to come up with a word for what was just the universal state of things. “you're not attracted to every girl in the world if you're straight but you still don't use the term small-tit-sexual”, etc. we watched a beautiful sunset outside the house as he ranted about how much he hates how little people understand sexuality.
the truth was i wanted to tell him about how much i loved giving a guy a handjob in class earlier that day. and the delightful mood it put me in as i skipped home to ‘come out’ to him. i forgot about that when he started talking.
words cycle through tension and release. ray says the purpose of language is to fail. i kiss his mouth to shut him up.
it's a race to the dialectic.
polyamory is not really any new thing. neither is relationship anarchy- love is inherently anarchic. love thinks power is funny. at best.
in the Lover's Hood, we have gang signs. our bodies talk and our words fall. we eat sense.
in the Lover's Hood, we are both advocate and judge.
in the Lover's Hood, we turn pain into pleasure.
in the Lover's Hood, time becomes a weapon.
in the Lover's Hood, we wait for your tongue.
wow.
i love this