Solomon Burke and spirits

The spirit takes over, slowly, like a snake creeping out of its hole to embrace the rain. The hazy claws of alcohol meet Solomon Burke’s melting voice half way. The rain supervises this intercourse, adding its warmth to the amalgamation and in months, I feel good. No, it’s not the Vodka..Maybe Burke’s trickling voice when he pleads his woman to not give up on him does the trick..But it feels good. The warm alcohol sears through my satin fabric, touching me at all the right places..igniting dead pieces..titillating confines of my brain.. And the words of “Don’t give up on me” stab my heart poetically, methodically..It’s beautiful..exhilarating..painful. My heart wants to sing to Burke, leap out and burn away with his voice..Softly..Beautifully..Delicately..Brilliantly..fatally..I don’t want this to end and if this is how heartbreak, alcohol and pain feels with Burke, I’ll do it a thousand times over because everything makes sense. It doesn’t..but it does..Maybe I’m a little drunk..Maybe this is all Solomon Burke..How does it matter? I miss you J..I don’t know if I really do or if it’s the alcohol..but I know this: Baby, I’ll leave you a thousand times over if this is how heartbreak feels and if this indeed is pain, I will fucking embrace it and make it mine forever.

Leaving behind

I keep trying to forget him; forget every part of him. Forget all the places we ever went to, all the dreams we dreamed together, all the things we wondered aloud.

I run away from everything that seemingly reminds me of him.

I run away from quiet places that whisper his name to me.

I run away from all the people that knew us.

Every day, I break little pieces of me off to forget him. I break little pieces off and leave them behind me. Pieces that were us. Pieces that were him.

I keep trying to forget his smell, his warmth, his arms, his tears, his hands, his hair, his name. Everyday, I forget a little bit of him and a little bit of myself in forgetting him.

I kill every little piece of him inside me. I let go of his breath in me, his laughter in my ears, his fingers through my hair, his dark, warm, piercing eyes, the way his neck smelled of my lips…

Every day, I let go of him.

But every time I look into the mirror, I see him there.

How do I let go of his touch on my flesh?

[Posted this on my Tumblr blog today.

airportsandrain.tumblr.com]