when i look into the mirror i see hormones. i see flesh. i imagine another sort of world. a world that cannot exist yet. the clock in the back ground of this room is pulsating the time away, like a dying deer on the side of a highway. if i think hard enough i can speed-up time. i cannot gain time back that i have used, 'cause it is spent and well invested for my life.
i'm throwing silver coins in the form of interest your way. you see my request and what i would like to buy. so, you take me into the back room of your shop. you walk infront of me, leading us, talking over your shoulder. the shape of your chin's making my knees weak. your tongue dancing and swishing back and forth in your mouth is hypnotic to watch. clamour plenty with the world in stereo. fear's fueling, with my heart in the spotlight or under the microscope.
making way to a room, you open a door and invite me in after you.
standing in the middle of the square box designed to fit humans. decorated with posters and old new atricles. you undress as i ask question after question.
you lay there expressing to me that you can only be touched in certain ways. that you will be most loved if i do these sorts of things. that you will only feel wanted if i say other kinds of things. i take my hands and fit them to your glove of a body, stretched tight over your bones and muscle, over the tendons and veins.
i wait for a moment as you gasp for air. i touch you in a spot where heaven is kept. it's moist and soft, bleeding clear. i look quick into your eyes, as i think i have broken you. as my eyes meet yours and a shimmer tells me that you are okay, and that you feel better than great.
you lay on the rug as i explore different possibilities as to how you glow. i touch my hands to your chest and one finger to your thigh and you moan. i press my lips to your mouth and rub my thigh against your pelvic bone, and it makes you shiver. a million possibilities and not a clue as to what i am doing.
my mind goes on and on. my heart throws blood into tiny avenues to keep me alive long enough for a lifetime.

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by ericjasongastelum

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Sophira B. (sophiraness) - 11/19/2008 9:59 AM ET

your writing does something to me - it reminds me of another poet whose words are so fluid, yet startlingly powerful - but that poet's words seem so hard to grasp that it makes me not want to write at all, for fear of not reaching a esoteric avenue of understanding. Ah, but your words make me feel the same, except i feel the urge to pick up the pen, to flow from the stream that your thoughts grooved into me. Well Done.

Marta J. (booksnob) - 11/19/2008 5:25 PM ET

Very erotic. Well done.

Eva L. (wearetrees) - 11/21/2008 7:34 PM ET

There is some sort of alchemy here, Eric, and if it's not within you it is definitely within me.

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