Beautiful Boys

I heard your voice just the other day
all coming back to me like it was yesterday
You where in your chair
hand round your cup
You smiled at me
like you always did
Sly eyes flickering with sapphire fire
The waves of your laughter
washed over me and sent a pulse up my spine
My hand reaching for the space
where your hand should have been

I saw you between the flakes of fairy dust
flickering between shafts of light
You where long and lovely there
afternoon sun kissing you shoulder and neck
You pulled to bring me close
as you always did
Deep hungry eyes making me sink
Soft velvet in your voice
wrapping me up in it making my skin tingle
I blinked just then walking to wards the chair
where your kisses should have been

I felt you in my arms last night
Gentle and warm as you laid there
So tender and sweet as you slept
Your hair like satin between my fingers
You squeezed so tight
I nearly lost my breath
Polished jade peered through lazy lashes
As soft dry lips brush against my chin
I awoke just then fingers grazing the space
where your body should have been

Feel kind of...

I don't know, dirty. It's kind of weird when you get a little crush on a pretty face that you don't know. Then one day you happen across their words with out them knowing and you peek and you feel something with in you stir...

There is something magical about reading someone else words. They are the key hole of the door to the inside of someone's soul, heart, and mind... So they are powerful and touching they can change your thoughts about someone in an instant.

So ya I feel a little dirty... A face of an angel that is pry way too far out of reach for me to ever touch, but still there, and brushes by once in a great blue moon. An that's all it was, a face a beautiful beautiful face that I could just look at, and not have to think too much about. Vain and shallow I know, I know but some time you just want that, the face, the fantasy.

Then it happened, I cam across the face's words. FUCK! Could it possibly be that they are just as beautiful if not more than the face its self? They are haunted, hopeful, moving, deep and thought filled. Longing and wanting the words keep echoing familiar songs that have poured from my own pen. I'm left speechless as I strain my eyes to keep looking through the key hole to see more.

Why should this make me feel dirty? Well to know how personal my own words are, how it's like stripping me complete bare, letting these huge moments of vulnerability lay here naked and open. Knowing this about my words, I continue to poor over the body of work from this beautiful face, like a lustful voyeur feeding an addiction.
My skin prickles and and my eyes glisten as I feverishly race to the next entry to read more.

I am such a terrible hypocrite. I go on an on for days, months and years about my loss in faith of true love, yet I read more and can't deny the stupid grin on me face or the memory of all the words that have flooded from my own pen of kisses in the rain, aching hearts,and longing fingertips tracing their way cross pillows in search for the body to be lying there. I am pry the most cynical hopeless romantic you will ever meet and now in these moments of lustful gluttony for poetry, I'm brought to my knees in forgiveness to the saints, of all romantic and wistful loves. Forgive me father for I have sinned...