Syd Rae’s Makeout Party

Dec 2nd 2009 by Gabriela Vainsencher
Dec 2nd 2009 by Gabriela Vainsencher

we were a bad story from the beginning…i stalked her from where i stood…and she leaned into my attention like a young bird of prey whose heart beats pure blood. and somehow…because i scented her…she came walking….but for her…her step…was pure music….and someway…she wanted to dance my fall.

i tricked her really…she was the real thing…and i made her believe for a moment….that we could be those two little girls in that song. and she showed me what the fuck about music and poetry and how words are a waste of time….and that when all you have is a pen…on that long bus ride home…that your words come in soft and scratched like that first record your dad played when it was all that he had to remind him of home…..that music is how you survive….that when your home turns dark you can turn up your music and think of her tits or her lips and that tomorrow you will hand her a tape that she might understand gave you one nights solace from the echoes that hide in the bass…
i wrote to her when i should’ve been working…i wrote to her even though i knew it was a lie….but the way it felt….to take something that lived like music lives…that feels inside like music fucking feels….pure…pure in my parents bed…pure when she wanted more….and when i told her that i was leaving her for some guy who could dick me the right way….i took her music with me…..and when i play it now…..my hands inside of her warm come back to me….dripping in time.