Blue Balls

The night was young
Or maybe it wasn’t
We was high in the feels
Or maybe I wasn’t
Or maybe you weren’t
Or maybe just high
Or maybe just I
Was in need of more than just a whisper
A secret glare
An all too easy to recognize connection
No, they call it a spark these days…
Yes…
An all too easy to recognize “spark”
In the way you moved
I moved
We moved
To the rhythm of a song we cannot remember if we tried
To the melody of synchronized bodies on bodies
Like we were made for a movement
That took our breath away
That kept our senses at bay
That understood our need for speed
And slowed us down to keep us steady
That snatched a piece of our souls
And for 7 seconds
Or was it minutes
Or was it that I did not notice the concept of time
That I understood
That in that moment
It was do or die
It was something or nothing nigga
It was a “all the way let’s never talk about this afterwards” kinda night nigga
Or it was a “not gonna happen and STILL not gonna talk about this” kinda night nigga
My favorite kinda night nigga
But before you gave me an answer
You were in between
You never came
But you left.
And I love that it wasn’t love
It was the physics of that moment
Theoretical gravitational attraction
Nonsensical indecisive inaction
So you left me between a sofa and a hard place
An empty pallet, a drunken poet, and a pair of blue balls.
Yeah, you never came
But you left.
Me sitting on an empty pallet, me the drunken poet, and my pair of blue balls.

 

Tracy Eric Writes… Of nights regretted and nights disappointed. Of nights on a pallet, of nights on the edge.

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