Craving Love

Sin & Love: Siblings by Association

There's a devilish grin you're flashing me, illuminated by the red numbers of the nightstand clock. And I swear, with the way I'd felt looking at your sharp features moulded by a cherry red glow, you could've passed as the Devil's handsome brother. I heard his name is Sin. All I can feel are these crinkled bedsheets against my back and all I want to see is that quiet glint in your dark dangerous eyes. I knew when the skeptic narrowing and subtle rolling of the hotel clerk's eyes followed our hasty claim of "Anything to get out of that rain" that she didn't believe us, but looking at your cupid bow lips, I don't believe us either. Us. We've pulled the curtains closed to keep out the streaming sun. Feelings shouldn't be able to be felt like this. I shouldn't remember the curve of your fingernails better than I remember my mother's maiden name. I shouldn't look for you in that old vinyl records store, even if their second aisle was where we listened to The Smiths for the first time together. I shouldn't understand every crease and burrow that dances across your forehead when the last time mine knitted in dissapointment or anger was when I wondered whether I could love you like I wanted to. Everytime I stop and listen to your promises, I can't help but fall for your lies, and I can't help but think that feelings should be something we control, not something that controls us. Because I promise, it's not me. I'm not the one who's letting you kiss my neck in room 309 as someone refills their ice down the hall. It's not me who listened to that old 80's song in Mark & Vinnie's Music Store. It wasn't me, it was just Cupid's foolish sister. I heard her name is Love. So believe me when I say I reach into someone else's rose tinted glasses for this final salutation: Life is full of higher powers that tug and tie the strings of Fate, sometimes a little too coincidentally. To clarify, it's no coincidence that our fifth kiss between racks of records and disks was accompanied by Steven Morrissey crooning out "I Started Something I Couldn't Finish".

-You might not be the devil himself, but I still see the resemblance (red-hotel-rooms)

(c.d.)