Thursday, December 29, 2011

I don't need to know...

I don’t need to know who you were
And what you did before
I don’t need to know what you do
When you walk out my door
I don’t need you to give me any reasons
Or explain how you spend your time
I only need you to surrender to the moment
When you’re in these arms of mine

I don’t need to know who your friends are
And what you do when I’m not around
I don’t need to know all the details
Of what you’ve heard of me around town
I don’t need you to call me every hour
To let me know just where you’ve been
I only need your thoughts to be tender
When you’re back in my arms again

I don’t need to know what you are doing
Every minute of the day
I don’t care who you spend your time with
After you go away
I don’t need to know what your friends think
I could really care less what they said
I only need your sweet whispers
When you’ve fallen back into my bed

Monday, December 26, 2011

Like there is no tomorrow...

eMi says “there is no tomorrow...”

Perhaps she is right and this has just been one long day. One long train ride to the edge of hell and back... a long climb up the mountain to reach the steps to Heaven only to stumble and tumble back down to the salt pit... Perhaps there is no tomorrow... and I have been drifting in and out of reality for so long as I claw my way through the diamond mine, in a sweet day dream of my own design, that I have forgotten the life that waits for me beyond the corridors of my mind... Perhaps there is no tomorrow... and these words... well, they just might be the last words that I write... so allow me to say the words I never got a chance to say... to Edith - I wish I could have made you laugh more. I hope that you are well and have learned to enjoy the moments of your solitude... I know your heart was breaking when I found you - but laughter has never been the same without you... to Alicia - I always only wanted your body... you are insane... but so was I... and the only time we could make any sense out of our relationship was in bed... to Anita - I will finally answer the question that you asked so long ago - it was only when you would leave me to go back to him that I felt alone... to Kelly - when I said “you make me want to do stupid things...” I meant it... I would have gone away with you... anywhere... just with you... I don’t know what held me back... do you know what held you back... to Diana - you were worth the wait, my dear... you were worth the wait... but I just couldn’t wait anymore wondering what in the hell you truly wanted from me... to Laura - you have to admit... ours was indeed a scandalous affair... and if I could... I would do it all over again with you... to Gloria - I sat at the back of the room as you read my first published piece from the school paper in front of the class... your emotions and your tears helped put my life in focus... when you finished you were a wreck... I have worked very hard to capture that moment again... you will never know how you helped to form this man - thank you... to Carmen - I’m sorry... I was a fool... I never meant to hurt you... know that I have suffered in return for the pain I caused you... I miss you... I burn for you... I would kick Satan in the balls for you... I would steal an angels wings to get back to you... and give the very best of me to you... to Amanda - yes... from Bombay to Boston - I have left behind sweet words for you... you will never know how you still inspire... to Rebecca - the life we live is a result of the choices we make... you made your choice... you decided on what it was you wanted... don’t look back... I’m not there anymore...and to Veronica - your kisses have been a curse... your tears - the crown of thorns wrapped around my heart... I have gone around the world but cannot escape the whispers you planted in my mind... I wake up some nights to the sound of your voice tickling my ear... I look in the mirror and see you standing behind me... crying... when I am at me desk I can feel the warmth of your breath on the back of my neck and your tears rolling down my shoulder... I can smell you on my skin... on the sheets I have slept on around the world... I can feel you laying next me, where you should be... the ghost of you lingers in my arms and in my dreams and rises in the steam from my morning shower... I can still feel your fingers stroking my hair... your teeth biting down on my chest... I remember the sound of your heart beat fading in and out... and the way you struggled to breath out a whisper... a half spoken word that got lost in the chaos of my mind when you slipped away from me... I have tried to be a good man... I have tried for you... to be the man you would have wanted me to be... the man I am meant to be... that the ghost of you would be proud of me... I have not always been good... I have not always been kind... and there have been many times that I wanted to just give up... but your reflection or your shadow and the sound of your voice are never too far behind me... to remind me... before you drifted away like a lonely ship lost at sea, I promised to live and love like there’s no tomorrow... but...

eMi says “there is no tomorrow...” - my dear sweet eMi - you are beautiful... if there is no tomorrow fill the day with your beauty... fill these hours that pass so slow with kind and gentle words... teach the world around you to enjoy more music... more literature... more art... in Spanish and English and French... in Japanese and Portuguese... do everything you do with passion... live with passion... love with passion... hold onto your friendships with passion... and if you must hate... hate with passion... but fill this world with your passion... if tonight is all we have... then write us all those poems you have been hiding from us... tell all those stories you have been waiting to tell... paint all the paintings and sing all your songs... give away all those kisses and be generous with your charms... be kind to strangers and hold those dear to you in your arms... if tomorrow never comes... if tomorrow never comes.

eMi says “there is no tomorrow...” but still... I will spend a few more hours speculating the worlds markets and scheming up ways to keep a little bit of what’s mine, mine...just in case the stars fade from the sky and I find myself saying hello to a new morning... but before I let that happen I will take Lorena in my arms and seduce her with the words I meant to give Amanda... I will give her the kisses I was saving for Carmen... and I will make love to her the way Veronica would want me to make love to her... like there is no tomorrow...

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Is it raining in London tonight...

Lightning burned the midnight sky
Like it once burned inside your eyes
I long to feel the magic of your touch
Missing you girl hurts so much...
Do you ever think of me - wonder what I’m doing now
Ever wonder where I’ll be when the rain comes down
Why must it just be in dreams that I’m by your side...
Is it raining in London tonight...

New York, New York brought me to my knees
Atlanta, Georgia was a mystery to me
Mexico City made me lose my mind...
Sometimes love can be unkind...
Do you ever wonder how we let it fall apart?
Will you ever find that lost beat of your heart?
Do you ever wish I was there to hold you tight...
Is it raining in London tonight...

Thunder explodes in my heart once more
It’s not the same rhythm as before
My heart wont beat like it did when it was yours
This might be love but I can’t be sure...
When I hear the thunder - I wonder where you are
I look up to heaven to find a falling star
But these dark clouds are hiding the moonlight...
Is it raining in London tonight...

Saturday, December 10, 2011

In my white shirt...

The subtle glow of dawn climbing over the mountains of concrete and steel and glass that is Mexico City melts into the perpetual amber hues of the morning that hangs above us, giving the lucky few - and the unfortunate many - a glimpse of what the foundation of Heaven is made of. I went out for my morning walk and tried to work out some ideas and plot out some schemes rolling around in my head but there is the whispers you left dangling on the edge of a dream like the phantom lyrics to some song I once heard in a filthy, smoky bar in Tokyo... but... what was that melody... I can’t recall... was it Dusty Springfield... or Gladys Knight...? I don’t know... but I remember Ayumi whispering the same words to me through the crackle of a broken stereo and the murmur of a drunken crowd... and those words... “besame... besame otra vez...” Yes, she spoke Spanish, and just as you did early this morning before you left me for whatever hero you leave me for in your dreams, she would say those very words... and like you... she would never remember the last kiss of the night... but it is something more than those words that all the women whom I gave the best of me to have in common - and they did also say those words in one language or another - that thing that made them mine... the turning point in the relationship that puts all doubts to rest... the moment she makes my shirt her own.

I have lost pens and watches and an assortment of trinkets I have collected around the world to the many women that have come and gone... but more than pieces of my soul I have lost some of my very most favorite button down shirts to the loveliest women in the world... and perhaps, without any surprise to me, many of those shirts met their demise in a ritual fire of a voodoo ceremony designed to raise the ghosts of love forsaken to chase me from one beach to another only to abandon me before the sun comes up as I have done to so many others myself... and I am sure many of those shirts met the cold steal of kitchen knives and scissors to turn into dust rags and window cleaners... but ahh... what wonderful shirts they have been... crisp cotton and linen... and buttons of mother of pearl... the many shades of blue and the stripes of white that raced down my sleeves like a skiers tracks down the Alps... some textures and weaves I will never be able to replace... the shirts I had made in Hong Kong and Singapore and my last Ascot Chang... Armani and Ellis... Calvin Klein and Hugo Boss... Ralph Lauren and Geoffrey Been... and those classic Arrow and Hathaway white shirts...

If it is true that we are given a vision of the history of our lives in the moments before we die, let those visions for me be a parade of the women that seduced me in nothing more than my white button down shirt with a straight color and her black stockings... and diamonds or sapphires hanging from her ears... with vodka on her breath and Chanel seeping through the valley between her breasts... From Sao Palo to Macau... and every port of call From San Francisco to Tierra Del Fuego... Sweet Lord... give me one more night with all of them before you throw your chains around me and hang me from my feet over the fires of hades... but most of all Holy father, give me all the nights I have left between the legs of only one... that one with skin of alabaster and eyes of fine amber... the skinny fragile one with the mole on the side of her left hip... the girl with the thin lips that tremble when she kisses me and moves her tongue across my lips as if every kiss she gives me is the first kiss she ever gave... and let every kiss always be like the first kiss... that girl that whispers gentle words to me as she drifts off to sleep in my white shirt and her black stockings... give me the nights I have left to write out verses on her back... to draw little butterflies and colibri up and down her spine... and leave the traces of my lust on the back of her neck and the small of her back... If tonight be our last night together... have room service fill our room with chocolate cake and a case of Johnny Walker... bowls filled with strawberries covered in sugar and Chet Baker recordings... If tonight she doesn’t drive a steak knife into my heart... then let us live it all again tomorrow...

I look up from this computer screen to see that the dining room is beginning to fill up with more early birds. This City is truly one of the Great Capitals of the world... I see the German business man wrapping up his phone call to Hong Kong... it is so obvious, as I too checked in on the Hong Kong Market before I left my room this morning... there is the little old Frenchman sitting at his usual table lost in a dream... he smiles at every one but his eyes have given up on life and I wonder if he simply just came here to wait to die... how long has he waited to be reunited with the one that left him behind. The Chinese students that occupy the fourth floor will be down in an hour but the Italian girls down the hall from us wont be up till noon... my waitress has Asian eyes and her skin is losing its tan... losing the last traces of Summer in Mexico - perhaps the scent of Acapulco or Isla de Carmen lingers on her wrist - I have caught her in moments looking at the little Frenchman with sadness in her eyes... does she think the same thoughts I think when I see him as well?

You wont read this until you get back to El Paso and open your e-mail... I will be in Panama - thinking of you and sorting out memories and conversation we haven’t had yet... listening for your whispers in another strange hotel room. The sun is trying to break through the windows and the sound of the morning shift is beginning to fill the streets outside... I will go up stairs and crawl back into bed with you... and wait for you to rise and wander around the room looking for nothing in particular like a doe in the woods wondering how it got there... in my white shirt... and your black stockings... dragging what’s left of my soul on the floor behind you...