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lust and longing
yesterday the lady looked at me and said "wouldn't it be great to just leave, right now, and go to new orleans? get some greasy breakfast and then go top it off with beignets?"
and it got my mind whirling, and this morning i can't quite get the big easy out of my head. dreaming of hot and humid, august weather, so hot you can barely move, just lie around and sweat and smell the jasmine and the wet air steaming up off of the ferns on every balcony. drinking cold frosty beers, cold frosty hurricanes, cold frosty oysters and hot fried catfish and all you can do in this heat is sweat and drink and dream. once it is dark the sun at least eases up and then there are the midnight walks down to the marigny, over near armstrong park, into the shadows for the real queer bars, with the tribe that looks more like me and less like castro clones amended with southern accents and transplanted to Oz in the quarter.
i want to lie on a wrought iron balcony and be drunk talking to the lady, talking to final_girl, talking to the pal, talking to NY boy, talking to Judi and Sean and so many many people* that I love and smoking and just revelling, revelling, revelling in how much there is to say and for once - how it feels like there is enough time to play, enough time to linger and enough time to say it all.
*just because you aren't name checked, don't think you're not at this party, cuz you are
and it got my mind whirling, and this morning i can't quite get the big easy out of my head. dreaming of hot and humid, august weather, so hot you can barely move, just lie around and sweat and smell the jasmine and the wet air steaming up off of the ferns on every balcony. drinking cold frosty beers, cold frosty hurricanes, cold frosty oysters and hot fried catfish and all you can do in this heat is sweat and drink and dream. once it is dark the sun at least eases up and then there are the midnight walks down to the marigny, over near armstrong park, into the shadows for the real queer bars, with the tribe that looks more like me and less like castro clones amended with southern accents and transplanted to Oz in the quarter.
i want to lie on a wrought iron balcony and be drunk talking to the lady, talking to final_girl, talking to the pal, talking to NY boy, talking to Judi and Sean and so many many people* that I love and smoking and just revelling, revelling, revelling in how much there is to say and for once - how it feels like there is enough time to play, enough time to linger and enough time to say it all.
*just because you aren't name checked, don't think you're not at this party, cuz you are
N.O.
let's all go.