are you a vagabon if you never leave someone's thoughts

i met a boy in paris who had the most beautiful words. a canadian cowboy in a three piece suit. i loved the way he saw life, the city of lights, and in more than a few moments, the way he saw me.

after we both left paris he would still send me words, words that even today almost a year later i can't get out of my head.

he might hate me for this, but i hate the idea of hording such beauty. it just doesn't seem right, it mustn't continue...

today is one of those days, despite the sunshine and crisp september
air talking about autumn, when all i want to do is splay this body
(half bent with booze and hangover) across a bed next to
some-warm-thing.
just a creeping of fingers and dreams all afternoon. that would
be contentment.
oh so great that would be.
wandering between dreams and skin
muttering poetry into the pillows and off the ceiling
proving people are good
a place where and when tomorrow is a long place away

chasen gillies
september 2008