sick in zurich

between Portishead and Massive Attack’s Angel─

i hum along and my eyes wander through scattered photographs of cabaret voltaire and the dada posters, pausing to stare into your muted hazel and those dark circles i’ve always found so erotic on you. must be from all the nights you stayed up working late when i longed to rub my cheek against yours─inhale your scent and exhale it into your ear with a soft whisper. (how come no one ever smells like you?)

Heat Miser mimicked my breaths as i dreamt of us moving against a light that silhouetted only our fluid frames, holding me like a trembling rose, watering me with your moist lips, our eyelashes tangled until morning mist slipped through a cracked window.

i recall your face, your hair, your touch, i swear i could taste your chest and neck—

and the rest was blurry.

i’m not in love with you, but i crave you.

you got me – an atheist – to pray to god every time to see you one more time, just one last time.

and you got me writing and shit-talking and walking figure eights all over the place. not quite a fucking mess but an alcoholic yearning for a sip. i made less sense to myself with every word i spoke and here i am incoherently rambling into a voice recording machine wondering if you will ever listen to this or if anyone else is listening to me confessing this and pitying me or if i am going to curse at myself for spitting this or if i will ever regret doing this or if i will ever feel like this will slowly destroy my insides or if this will ever make you think i wasn’t worth the stress or if i will ever been seen as a sinner for this─i don’t want you to think of me any less

but i’ll still be waiting for you in zurich

to drown me in white-wine-kisses and burn me down into ashes and bliss.

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~ by Núr on February 9, 2017.

One Response to “sick in zurich”

  1. I love how this is erotic and very sincere!

    Like

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