yesterday's sex

every time i drink coffee,
i remember us.  that morning,
we'd spent all night in sex, each
determined to out-last and out-love
the other. after you left, i could smell
the condoms we used like
steam rising from this cup,
good and strong.

miscs

Let me figure out the themes of this grey song
repeated forever too long in my head
all the while you keep not talking
to me in fact I am not
I am not at all
sleeping

praying

Hello.  I miss you, friend.   There isn't a day when you are not on my mind, one time or another, but I have not had the time to sit down and write something decent, and when I do, it's late in the night and I'm tired, with nothing significant to say.  I'm so wrapped up in the mundane of everyday life, and it's not a tiny bit interesting, not even when I try to think about the "possible explosiveness" of the mundane.

In your last letter , you asked me to pray for you.  The question is strange to me, mainly because I think I have always been praying for you, even before I know what praying is.  When one wants only good things to happen to another person, isn't that praying?  Isn't love itself a prayer? 

So, with all my prayers, which you will always have,

q.