skin like velvet

the subway slithers underfoot and a cold wind blows dead dry leaves. night people crawl out of doorways and linger under storefronts. I sniffle in the wind and try not to turn into tears, try to consider putting down the cold hard knife I hold pressed against my skin, try to remember why I want to untangle my heart from its cool blade, try to tell myself I'm worth it. I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes and it hasn’t gotten any easier. A patio, a garden, a cigarette, a shared memory. a feeling we crave that we may never find in each other again. I must really like to punish myself. The thought faintly flickers through my head and I hurriedly push it away, bury it under soft jazz and fuzzy lights and kisses and smooth skin, soft hands, arms, legs. i want forever in this moment.

my car veers past alleys lined with victorian beach homes and turns right at El Tarasco. shakira sings estoy aqui and I hit the back button over and over again until i remember all the words. I stop in a parking lot near the boardwalk and leave the car. an orange streetlight burns into my retinas. el nino-like winds whip the palm trees and spit sand and water everywhere. i want to lose my memories in the rainy darkness and emerge baptized by the salty Pacific. i want to toss my thoughts into the frothy seas where they will tangle with trash and seaweed while i run free.

hustler

bass guitar tumbles up the rainy street from the whisky on sunset and larrabee. sirens spin into the distance. the cars make a slick slipping sound as they cruise the boulevard lined with sex shops and pizza joints. I sit on the patio and listen. another guitar pounds out a methodical rhythm occasionally punctuated by a singer's yelp. I cross the street and blend into the crowd. the venue is nearly at capacity, the patrons in their mid thirties, wearing flannel, ripped levis, and motorcycle boots, holding cups of foam and budweiser.

the song changes into a melody and I see the guitarist bent over with sweaty curls flopping in his face, framed by orange light. the drummer sits shirtless, smashing cymbals and snares. the bassist stands upright and stared up at the lights while his fingers worked their way up and down the neck of the guitar. to his left stands the singer. he cradles the mic, whispers words that echo back from the pa system. his voice sends me spinning into galaxies and exploding stars that soon won't exist. the rhythm changes and he detaches the mic, snaps its cord and howls, reaches one hand up to the fiery stage lights and begs for forgiveness. the song stops and the audience rewards his effort with one handed claps and half hearted shouts. a few enthusiastic fans jump and scream from a cluster in front of the singer, inches from the stage. i wonder if the sound engineer has flashed the five minute sign yet. the singer looks down and curves his lip into a sinister smile in the near-silence. then the drummer counts off and the band dives into one more rollicking nameless song. when the singer looks up again, a look of disbelief flickers across his rumpled face and he stretches his lips into another howl.

we teeter on the edge of closeness. and everything insane. rain falls down and covers everything below. we can't pretend we're everything. we're not each other's missing piece. I feel myself slipping away with this realization. I draw a line to keep you far behind. I know I can exist somewhere.