burt and bodies

---these eyes

We embraced—drunkenly after karaoke and 3 a.m. poutine—and when I hugged you fiercely and tightly to me, I didn't remember to thank you for dropping down and reminding through reunion that the life we lived two years ago is not the life we live today. (But that it's still good).

There were no body suits or burlesque numbers this time, but it felt the same and that's why it matters. I wish I could have spent more with you—talking intently about how the UK has shined your boots and studded your jeans—but I treasure the brief mornings shared and the friendly kisses on the shoulder or cheek before leaving to see your family. (You're family).

Thank you for coming back and making me remember. And for living like french fries for dinner three times a week is appropriate. And for embracing my changes. And for loving me.

I love you. London soon. 

---the bodies

I woke up wondering how to feel about the whole thing.  I looked at my limbs and bruises, bite marks and breasts, and thought about that party. What to feel? What to think? How intertwined feelings are—power.pleasure.passion.confusion.committment.resistance.submission.giving.(living.) Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuuuuuck. 

Before I left for this place three years ago, a man drinking wine at the bar told me, "Good girls go to Ottawa. Bad girls go to Montreal." I've been thinking about that lately, and the way he smiled when he said it. Who is bad? What is bad? (His eyes told me it was good.) Is it good? What is good? At least it's real. 

I didn't know then what I know now and I won't know today what I will know tomorrow, you know? Wow. 

I really want to write down the details but not all of them. I want to reinforce the softness and hardness, the confusion of limbs and bodies, the breathing and sweating, but you just had to be there. It's impossible to tell you the way the early sun basked on flesh and messy hair, and made the details so very clear and my mind so blank as I rode my bike down the hill in the wind. Arms outstretched. Jacket flying though the air. Thigh high stockings revealed. 

This city. It must be this city. 

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