We Don't have to Fuck 11.29.99
12.04.03

I like clam chowder because it tastes like
secrets. This is the secret. There is never
enough time. Everyone is a different person
alone. Sneak up on me one night,
peer through the venetian blinds hanging
over the patio doors, knock
against my window. You will not
see me, you will see the person you
imagine yourself to be spying
upon.
This is the sort of loneliness one
dies of. I long for it to be late
enough for sleep. Only my innate sense of
self-preservation keeps me from calling
Billy. Dignity keeps me from J.
Fear of disapointment from calling Eric.
Tommorow night, if I have still heard
nothing, then I will call Eric. This
gives me something to look forward to.
I want to go to bed with
someone else. We don’t have to fuck,
don’t even really have to touch.
Beds are warmer when someone else is
in them with you.  ¶ 4:35 AM