Friday, June 9, 2006
Stream of
The water is pouring over my hands when I become aware of a silky soft sensuousness on my finger tips. The moment of erotic sensation is broken by the incessant ring of the phone in the lobby and the unemployed voices of customers coming in for a hopeless job search.
I reluctantly turn off the stream of cool water and return to my steamy hole-in-the-wall office to endure another mundane day without air-conditioning or adventure to rescue me from a life lived on the edge of unnoticed.
I sip my coffee and while the caffeine slowly lifts the fog which blankets my consciousness, I drift through my morning reads then ease into a routine so familiar and automatic, only the calendar on the desk bears witness to the passage of time.
Later I am welcomed home by the two creatures whose affection seems to ebb and flow according to the volume of food currently in their dishes. I ease into a nightly routine so familiar and automatic... the glow of the screen in front of me taking me into the thoughts and minds of others searching for... what? What? What is it that we want?
The next morning my hands linger a little longer under the stream of water and I'm almost able to surrender to the sensation, but stop myself for to do so I would be acknowledging an absence... an absence of... the absence of
touch.
I reluctantly turn off the stream of cool water and return to my steamy hole-in-the-wall office to endure another mundane day without air-conditioning or adventure to rescue me from a life lived on the edge of unnoticed.
I sip my coffee and while the caffeine slowly lifts the fog which blankets my consciousness, I drift through my morning reads then ease into a routine so familiar and automatic, only the calendar on the desk bears witness to the passage of time.
Later I am welcomed home by the two creatures whose affection seems to ebb and flow according to the volume of food currently in their dishes. I ease into a nightly routine so familiar and automatic... the glow of the screen in front of me taking me into the thoughts and minds of others searching for... what? What? What is it that we want?
The next morning my hands linger a little longer under the stream of water and I'm almost able to surrender to the sensation, but stop myself for to do so I would be acknowledging an absence... an absence of... the absence of
touch.
Posted at 1:47 AM | |
