Striplizard

"Return then to your stead.

with your heart in your hand and your gun rather loose in its holster"

          -A. G. Fathom

Soon it will be time to shed the bitter and jaded skin that I've adopted these last few months.
Soon it will be time to go get her.  I need her more than I want her.  Want is sempiternal.  Need is now.

Soon it will be time for more than just the same old case-ups in different towns on different days.
Soon I'll be wishing you were here, (though I would never ask you to come here). The weight of you on my mind will push me forward.  I'll go.

Soon I'll go.

The suntides and turpitudes and
For'convenience'Sake laidback luxury
merely serve for each man to seek his own elevation.
Each dodging the bullet of their own emptiness.

The world has ostracized me.  I'm from back east, born and bred, but its not home.  No one there, temerariously talking to myself.  And the low-rent palmtree'd west is fine, but it's not mine. 

My home is not where I live, and I don't live in my home. 

Lost between two shores.

Consumed by fire. I can't even tell why I'm lost, but it may be because I can hardly remember your face.

Put on your healing clothes and let me press up to your neck.
Wrap myself in your sensations.
The smell of your cheek, taste of your tightmossy kisses,
wavy brush of hair, the taut skin across your torso.
Man is a lecherous animal.

Without you I am empty.  Soon I'll go.

Hate marginalized people.

If you don't have anything nice to say don't say nuthin' at all. Right?

Well I'm too vain and distracted for silence.  I get really lonely and the distance nourishes silence where I imagine you smiling with desire in your eyes. 

Soon it will be time to actualize all these fantasies, I sigh.

Are you really sure that you'd be ok with me?
I lie.  Behind my masks you might despise my predictabilities.
Toothpaste tubes left open on the counter.  Snores and smells.
I wonder how long it would take before I fail to satisfy you.
Before I shed this moping façade of Can't'have'You
and discover behind it more quivering sentimental sap.
Like earthquakes our continental problems put on a shelf
until they create mountains and rupture, escalating into inevitable division.

Soon it will be time to admit there's someone better for you.  Soon I may really try— and really fail. 
Soon I'll ask you to choose me (though I would never ask you to choose me).  Everything to gain, and everything to lose.  Stop crisscrossing the country and settle in for a nice long haul.
 
Soon the waiting will be too much and I'll do it.  I'll do it.  Arrest this wanderlust and admit where she is I want to be.  Freedom is a prison, and I'm suspended between countless neon roadside bars, drinking away the months, dreaming of coming to rest, to a home, to her.