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ericboy's Diaryland Diary

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Last night, I couldn't sleep.

I laid down in the bed, closed my eyes, and listened to Deftones' "White Pony" on repeat. I fancied that I would lose consciousness and drift off to sleep with visions of climbing your arms or with you snapping photographs of me, on my knees, in the trunk of your car. As it happens, that was not the case.

Rather, I dreamed of touching your face. I would place my left hand before you; my thumb would trace the ridge of skin between your bottom lip and face, and my index finger would run right to left on your left eyebrow. I would pull away, my hand wavering in front of you like a flared cobra, and I would attack with the most gentle caress of the side of your head with the chief fingers of my left hand.

I would rake this hand, quietly, slowly, and with steady heartbeat, over the entire area of your face and neck. For brief moments at a time, you would make sounds accompanied with pleasure. I would just smile and run my fingers over your soft, smooth cheeks,

I should be working on writing my book or reading the book that I checked out from Border's

or perhaps I should just get some sleep and catch up with the rest of the world.

I would smoke you if you were an accident, and I would smoke you if you were on Venus, and a credit card.

I miss you in my arms, though I've never felt you.

12:17 a.m. - 2003-12-03

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