PROTECTING HIM FROM MY FEELINGS...

PROTECTING MYSELF FROM DENIAL...

PROTECTING IS NOT A CONCEALING...

PROTECTING WAS A LIE AND A SMILE...

THE LIES OF A COWARDLY SELF DOUBTING YOUTH...

WHO MAY BE REDEEMED WHEN HE TELLS YOU THE TRUTH:

Suffering.

"I Like The Suffering", That is what he said...

Well I like the way that his body moves...

He inspires this suffering he so desperately craves...

A junky for the pain that he wordlessly deals...

Dualing with the vices: Of Course!

We Both Came Out Of That Party Years Ago!

Strange: Here I am weeping for the simple pleasure of suffering over his eyes. I haven't felt desire like this since virginity. This wanting to be part of him...This wanting to know him and for him to know me - Like Freshmen year when I would stare at their bodies and into their eyes longing for their touches...Hungering for their mouths.

Feeling this pain is like returning home; remembering a dream that once haunted all of my days. That soft quiet strangness of pleasure from pain...So far removed from the last three years where I would find myself in bed with anyone I was attracted to. I would dance with them and kiss their mouths and they would be mine...at least for the night.

But this time it's different, like before this began. I can't just go home with them; I have to love them first...I have to suffer...I have to suffer a lot.

I love it I think, though I know that I hate it.

Crazy for wanting him.

Foolish for writing about him and myself.

I'm making an ass of myself by hurting this much...

But I can't help it and I don't want to.

If this sweet suffering with it's silent tears and heart sundering masochism is all that I can have of his dark black hair and questioning eyes...His supple lips and hypnotic gestures...than so be it.

Maybe that's what love is...

Maybe I'm obsessed or a freak or a perversion of nature...

Or maybe...Just maybe he'll read this and understand the longing that must surely make it's presence known when I have the courage to allow our eyes to meet for any length of linear time...

But maybe not.

I remember seeing that stanger in the shopping mall...

He filled my dreams and my poetry for months after...

I only saw him once.

And now this man...This unnamable man...I've seen him more than that...But not by much...And always so long in between.

His strangely magnetic smile; as if he is afraid of his own power...

The way he moves! Oh...I could write forever. I wonder...Would he move that way if he were pressed up against me?

Sweet Dreams Jason...

Sweet Dreams And Good Night.

-FOR MATT WATT-

WHO INSPIRED IT