Can’t sleep

My girl is away. Can’t sleep. I can drink though. Don’t do me any good of course, still can’t sleep. Smoke, drink… kill time, days at a time, days in a second, each second a day, until she is back. Let the damned day break. I look in her eyes, but they ain’t there; even so I drown in them. How can one become so attached to another human being? It seems perfectly right and insane all at once. It’s like lying down and asking to be killed and expecting it to happen and it doesn’t… and that meets my foolish hopes. I only went down to be pulled up. I can’t help being surprised that it actually worked, which makes me love her all the more, of course. Christ, what a woman, I think . . . if only she was here, I’d show her how very much I fancy her . . . but she ain’t. I want to seize her in my arms, crush her to me, kiss her savagely and feel how she bends back to receive it. I want her to seize me and push me on to the bed with that demanding look in her eyes, that look that says show me what you have, buck, show me how you love me. A little push that makes me surrender, fall for the moment, but . . . a little push that also shows she wants me to, well . . . to take her.

It’s not like it sounds. It sounds like conquest, but it ain’t like that. Men have a tendency to speak of love in terms of war, but that is just a mask. I am convinced that it’s the men who surrender and give women what they want. Behavioral science actually confirms this, but what the fuck do I know. I can’t sleep, I’m drunk, so you can’t believe a word I say anyway. I’m just waiting until she comes back, until I can become sane again.
Listening to In Your Garden Twenty Fecund Fruit Trees from Frank Londons Klezmer Brass Allstars,

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