La Rue Bondage

It’s a new moon night
And this bible black sky
becomes canvas for neon claws

Cold and overcast
this night on which the sun hides
blushing in shame

Slowly and patiently
a river of obsession begins to flow in my veins
the look of fixation clouds my sight
and this author’s alter-ego comes to life
Dom Pablo, as he demands to be called
A strange personification
of some obscure emerald smuggler
Witty and powerful
all dressed in black
Leather boots and tight denim
Leather jacket, no shirt and and ominous black whip

Clean cut Ibero-latin man
or Mexican pool boy with a twisted smile
with a very thick accent
handcuffs and carabiners
smoking Gitanes

She knows he is a teddy bear
his love shows through his eyes
and yet, she will obey
“Porque lo digo yo” - because I say so, he says
as he lands the whip on her naked derriere
with deadly accuracy
“Weppo” leaving a bright red kiss shaped mark
on her pale white skin
“Weppo” – Because I say so, mami
as the door closes behind them
the light that escapes through the keyhole
is now a flashlight that unveils a hidden world
a world you never knew about
or maybe you have....

Graceland

I remember when I was a kid
all my friends wanted to be Superman
Aquaman, Ultraman
Spiderman or Captain America
Me? I wanted to be Elvis
Like a steamroller baby

James Dean was before my time
Mickey Rourke was just starting
but The King
aah, he was something else

The mystic, the aplomb, the charm
"a little less conversation
a little more action"
and women would fall at his feet
like popcorn in a matinee

"When I was a teen I used to vandalize public phones,
now that I've grown up I vandalize my own"
- Cazuza

The Fountain of Salmacis

That bright yellow thing is out
shinning all over us
summer is here, without a doubt

I might go bathe in it
and while the Acapulco Plaza
or the Yacht Club seem farther than they have ever been
I still embrace the Sun

and son of a bitch, how bored am I
on this sunny late morning friday
it's one of my days off but everyone is at work
and there's no scandinavian princess to spank

Friday, like no other
I will go again to that special place of mine
you know where I'll be
keeping the tan, tan
maybe listening to Plant
or the trickling water falling
in the fountain I've renamed
as "The Fountain of Salmacis"

4th of July 2007

Spent the 4th of July with Erik, the Pretty Girl, Tadster et al.
As always a time to reflect on the amazing beauty and grandeur of this land, of this beloved Country that I have embraced ever since I remember.
Skateboarding on Orange Ave in Coronado Calif is one of my best memories of my childhood. While I did grow up in Mexico we also had a condo at the Coronado Seashore Towers (better known as the Taco Towers) and a house in La Jolla.
My dad and I would come twice a year and do the whole San Diego Zoo, Sea World, Disneyland thing, and of course, shopping sprees that were out of control. We would spend most of the time in Coronado, where I would spend hours hanging out at the local pizza place playing centipede after buying obnoxious amounts of candy bars at the now defunct Alpha-Beta.
We would also stay in Newport Beach, at my brother's (Johnny Gerber - Wolrd Champion Formula Ford 1971) and he would always take me go-kart racing and coach me.
While I am Mexican American I am a Proud American and I took this day to reflect and humbly thank our Troops, those boys are out there KICKING ASS while we sit and watch fireworks from the comfort and peace of our homes, this is thanks to THEM.
Pictures from the Fireworks Display, here in Lake Union, WA.

Door Mat

I still have my heart
somewhere...
I'll find it one of these days
when I least need it
under a box
or all rolled up, like a poster, in a corner somewhere
maybe gardening in the attic
maybe inside an empty plastic bag
but more than probably
it will be replacing the door mat
waiting for the wrong person to return
he doesn't know
my poor and stupid heart
who never knew.

That is why I understand when you ask me to write
and that is how I know why you can't love
though sometimes I wish you could
and I ask you to do things I can't
like love
like the washer, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling.

Cause I wanna take you downtown...

It must have been 2:00am this morning when I found myself surfing, smoking, brewing and chasing my tail like I usually do. This fucking insomnia has got to go.
Then again, what fun.
Hunger strike, I mean, stroke.
I think hunger strikes are as stupid as that Carpenter girl... errr, nevermind.
So, like Amundsen I set sail to my favorite late night eatery.
The Hurricane, a retroish very non-art-deco, rather warehousy, shady coffee shop a block from the Needdle. Yes, it has a bar, but this one breaks your dreams before you even walk in.
But that's not the "It" about this place. I go there because it's open, the bacon is always fried to perfection (not charred yet crunchy enough to provide the neccesary traction for the tomato not to slide). Three or four girls with multicolored hair, a army of emo's and the always sparkling pair of curvy blondes (I believe that for the purpose of general understanding of the ALWAYS BELOVED QUORUM I will have to classify their booties as BBW) of course, in their early 40's.
No, I was so NOT checking them out, really. I was incredibly entertained with the wiffity.
The what?? (and people ask if we have TV's in Mexico)
Wiffity! a wi-fi networked big ASS LCD screen that displays txt's> This, of course, is like giving me a full breakfast and a megaphone, at 2:00am.
The service sucked royal ass, but who is in a hurry at 2:00am? I mean, bush kept reading "Curious George" after being informed of the COWARD attacks in 9/11 (we're gonna get you one of these days fuckers, just wait till the shield is up and we're going to be cooking glass like a trailer park in Pierce County).
But by then I might find myself locked up in Get Mo' not becuase of my blurbs, but because I'm tan. So much for voting. Anyway. It's the Hurricane and they were playing Johnny Cash, Simple Minds, Erasure, Depeche and unfortunately Howard Jones.
Tah Tah.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot....
Being single allows you to stay up all night, eat basted eggs and an absolutely fucking magnific waffle topped with bluberries and whip cream at 2am WITHOUT having to convince anyone that the bacon is always crunchier, though Hester Prynne might disagree.
(when in fact IT IS) and fuck the tomato, it just fell on the floor.

Life Brew

Tripping on my own shadow
sleeping as little as possible
feeding on stale crackers
and using pillows as masks
I go
living my days in pairs
while the shower is a river of handkerchiefs

I wake up to the evening news
the moon is my sun
and the whistling coffee pot my songbird
Her face is everywhere
my heart becomes an empty plastic bag
a merky fishtank
a cat ran over
by the garbage truck

I watch her slipping away
like a sad kid in the park
seeing his balloon fly into the air

Yesterday Starts Tomorrow

I'm standing by the window
barefoot, smoking my last cigarette
and there's no moon tonight
just the dark, starless sky
there are no planets either
and no 747's with their blinking lights
there's nothing
not even a super nova to come and take me away
or a comet to hitch a ride with.

Tomorrow,
tomorrow the sun won't come out
all the yellow flowers on the curb will die
bunnies will disappear in the forest
and all life will stand still
motionless
as I stand barefoot by the window and cry

Tomorrow there will be no more highway
there are two plane tickets
but there's nowhere to go
no raft in the ocean
no lifeguard, no nurse

There will be no wine
no diving boards
no children riding on their bikes
there will be no phone calls
and no cards in the mail

Tomorrow there will be the most absolute nothing
it will be the last page of a book
"The End" of a motion picture
the end of the camera film
and the end of the song
which I heard in your eyes

Nothing
Absolutely nothing
only yesterday
and the yesterday before that
and the one before

The yesterdays when I had you with me
when we said goodbye in the crowded airport
when we sat and prayed for safe trips
when we made incredible love promises
when we wrote pages in our book
and all of your 56 smiles will be replayed in my mind

I will hear all your different laughs
and remember all your words
your blue eyes will be forever present
reminding me there's hope
when there isn't
as the scarlett letter burns me at the stake
because there's nothing
nothing, nothing, nothing
just an abyss of emptiness
two jars of darkness
a bottle of air that is hard to breathe
and an endless ocean of pain
and guilt
and beyond that ocean
there's only more nothing
much more...

As I walk the empty Seattle streets
remembering my yesterdays with you
as life slowly escapes from me
and I roam in comatose insomnia
I bid you farewell
and I know it was all my own doing
but now that the tulips are dead
I stand barefoot by the window
and slowly begin to die
yesterday starts tomorrow
tomorrow starts today.

Longest Chapter

We met at a bar in Mexico City
it was 1999 and sheer coincidence
or so we thought
Blonde with green-blue eyes
ensnared I saw her
dancing on the bar
with her friend Rachelle
I was with my coworkers Miguel Angel, Julio, and Mariana
celebrating Miguel's birthday
Hugo, Frida and I shared an apartment in La Condesa
and I had never heard of Wenatchee
She then returned and stayed for a month with me
on a small apartment I moved to, in the Napoles neighborhood
Then my mother finally found my certificate of birth
in the bottom of a safe she keeps at a bank
I then got a new American Passport
and flew to Seattle
Two suitcases, two hand drums
as hippie as I could be
I arrived in seatac in time to drive by the Kingdome
which was imploded the very next day
From there to Orondo, in Eastern Washington
in the beautiful Pacific Northwest
Snow was a first for me
and daytrips to Leavenworth magical
then I learned to drive a tractor
and went to work in the fields
Damn that beginning was tough
getting food from the food bank
buying cheap cigarretes
and Starbucks was a treat
Yet, I never lost hope
We flew to Palm Springs
to spend Christmas with my mom and family
then we came back and I started working at GTC
my first job as a csr at a micro call center
one fine day someone from the College called
asking me to teach Windows and Office in Spanish
little did I know
that would change my life
pretty soon I quit GTC and went to work for an ISP
Northwest Internet, but that didn't last very long
I got a call from Volt, saying there was a temp job at Microsoft
woohoo, my dream come true
Then this guy named Sergio called me, and we spoke of Windows 98 and NT
and of soccer and cachaca
in English, Spanish and Portuguese (little did I know, we would become great friends)
Next thing I see is Bellevue
and here we come, to Lincoln Plaza
Truly I never expected to be hired
I came to network, for when I graduated from WVC
Instead, the very next day they told me I was in
That's how I started
as an evil volt trilingual csr
That's when I met Travers, Norberg, Hayes, Lee, and Smith.
We moved to Issaquah and I worked my ass off
8 months later it all paid off
When my badge finally turned blue
We got married in 12/03/2005
shortly after chacha came into our life
in Acapulco, Mexico
where I spent so many months with my Dad in his yacht
but this time we went out on Juan Emilio's 48" Benetteau
We then returned back to Issy
and she went back to working at the tanning place
We lived a long relationship
the longest I've ever had
and the washer that life is
with its cycles and tumbles
bleached the mesh away, at least some of it
and tomorrow I will stand before a judge
who will tell me it's all finally over
I like to think we have moved on
after over a year separated I believe we have
still, it hurts
Now all I see is a suitcase
and it is all I keep
I'm glad to say it has nothing
but incredibly wonderful memories.

" - Everything goes and everything remains
But going is our thing
Go making path
Path on the sea
I never pursued glory
or leave in the memory
of men my song

I love the subtle worlds
Gravityless and gentle
like soap bubbles

I like to see them paint themselves
In blue and red in flight
Trembling under the blue sky
suddenly and breaking
I never pursued glory

Traveller, your footprints are of the path and nothing more
You make the path by walking, and by looking back
You see the meadow that should never be walked again
Traveller, there is no path, you make the path by walking

Sometime ago, in that place
Where forests wear thorns
The screaming voice of a poet was heard
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
Punch by punch, verse by verse

The poet died, far from home
The dust of a neighboring country covers him
In the distance they saw him cry
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
Punch by punch, verse by verse

When the songbird doesn't want to sing
When the poet is a nomad
When praying doesn't help us
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
Punch by punch, verse by verse"

N. Hinojosa

Gordon Matthew Sumner

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 1982

I can't quite pinpoint the exact moment
on which I first listened "Invisible Sun"
but one thing I do remember
is that I'll never forget

"The Mathematicians"
is how my friend Poncho Soto referred to them
accurate and metronomically perfect
always in that distinctive synchronicity
with a refined sarcasm that brought me up
"don't stand so close, Miss Gradenko"
or the infamous "Oh, Mother"

It's been 25 years
and now, for the very first time
I have tickets to see THEM
all 3 of them, together
this year, June, in Seattle
at Key Arena
(Ronda came with me).

One Brown Mouse

I saw a mouse today
well, its tail
it was sticking out from a cat’s mouth
and it reminded me how wonderful life is
and how short

Heya, the tail is gone….
and by now it’s almost 3:00am again
time flowing, like running water
I gave up clasping it with clenched fists
in its timely sandy erosion

But, what is left?

The money is gone
the jobs are routines
time disappears
so what is left?
For us, mortal men
a muse does just fine
and is enough for life to be lived
everything else is just an accessory
like falling stars

“in the darkness there's no sympathy
just fear”

Sleeping Pills

Sometimes I feel strange
you know what I mean?
like not so much myself
it really isn't walking on the edge
cause that's where I thrive
I was born hanging from it
it's just that some days are...
sometimes strange
perhaps, too strange

Days in which my mind races
and plays tricks on me
just honing on the same stupid questions
over and over again
am I good enough?
will I ever pay my debt?
should I keep on writing?
and I look in the mirror
and think to myself
"well, at least you're not going bald anytime soon"
"I need to lose this weight"
and it's back to the couch
when did I switch from Tom & Jerry to Jerry & Steve?
and the questions come back
like killer bees from hell
stinging my peaceful evening
and blowing my nirvana out of the water
am I the best lover she's ever had?
am I tall enough?
well, nothing to do there, so let's move on
...but
am I tall enough?
at least I'm not going bald
should I get a dog?
is the Starbucks still open?
I have to quit smoking
...and I walk out to my deck and light up another Marlboro
and blow off these poison dart thoughts
and then
they come back again
only to be interrupted by the whistling teapot
I could take drugs
but then I'd be thinking that I could become a heavy user
so that's a no go
how I wish she was here
to run her fingers through my hair
and swim in the peace of her blue eyes
how I wish she was here
to lift and throw the sheets and blankets on the floor
like some Latino Godzilla
ravaging everything on my path
roaring and raging
bull and matador

yes, something is different now
like a hurricane
or sudden hiccups
like coffee stains
or a storm approaching
change happened
and I must confess
that I have never slept so well.

Crossed Paths

I had been looking for you
with your blue eyes
to show me the sky
with your white skin
for me to show you the snow
with your hands
to guide my way

and now I found
there is so much more to you

I had been waiting for you
with your strength, your courage
to stand by my side
with your passion, your heart
to lighten my night
with your lips
to sugar my day

and now with you
there is so much more I find

You take my hand
and I stand tall and strong
proud, brute, animal and bull
the man that I am in totality
has become yours
and only yours

Like a sword and anvil
like sax and bourbon
whispers in the night
glasses for the blind
or goldfish in a fishtank
I had never felt before
the freedom that you give me
when I give myself to you
the love, the skin, the fire
when I hold you and make you mine

and now that I have you
I just love you so much more
so much more than this heart ever thought it could
and so much more than I could ever wish for.

Existentialism

As a little boy
my old man showed me the sunsets
from the deck of his yacht
in the middle of the bay
sudden sunbeams splashing the blue sky
with amazing oranges and reds
I saw his wisdom
in the blue of his eyes

As I grew up
while sailing in the Sea of Cortez
we ran into a school of dolphins
he jokingly pushed me overboard
into the open ocean
and I made new friends
friends with fins
I saw his encouragement
in the blue of his eyes

He then taught me how to sail
how to drink, eat and smoke
how to treat a lady, how to speak of them
how to fish, how to talk
I saw his experience
in the blue of his eyes

He taught me by example
living life to the fullest
in freedom, with God
he taught me almost everything
that I ever needed to know
in the blue of his eyes
which I have no more
the little boy he raised, misses him often
that is something that will never change

...and then you came along
you stood in front of me
you looked me in the eye
and showed me what love is
a love I had never known before
my chest exploded in rage like an awakened bull
and the fool that I am, that I have always been
knew that the man that I've become
is destined to live for you
and at that moment I saw everything I needed to see
sunsets, dolphins, blue skies and open oceans
my childhood, my manhood, every single pore
and I saw everything my dad saw in me
in the blue of your eyes.

Bottomless Baileys

Sergio, Liz, Toby, Lauren, Erik and Aunt Katie joined me in celebrating my 38th at Agua Verde, which is a small Mexican restaurant on Lake Union. This group, while small it sure was diverse, and that contributed to funny and outlandish conversations which flowed while others spied on the neighbor's houseboats.
From there we went for drinks at Dad Watsons, which was just as fun. While I had a bottomless glass of baileys at my disposition, I only had two, since one of the side effects of drinking is migraines (at least to me) so I always impose that limit. We all left by 1:00am, so it was nothing wild. Yesterday I woke up with a mega headache and ended up throwing up at the local starbucks, and that was my day.

XXXVIII

Tomorrow I'm turning 38, and I must confess it is depressing. I have two years left before I turn 40, and I hear that from there it's all downhill. While wealth isn't something I have achieved, I do feel I am now starting to harness my finances and began to put some money away. Therefore I decided to stop for a moment and remember what I've done all these years, for it sure has been a ride. So, if I had a time machine, to what stage of my life would I want to return? follow me, I'll explain on the way....
Back to when I was six? my parents were getting divorced and I hated school, oh, yeah, no. Back to when I was 12, flying to Rio, ready to discover jeans with lycra, supertramp, a turma da monica and the absolutely jaw dropping neighbor who was no more than 4 years older than me and yet wouldn't even acknowledge my existence? no.
But at 16, going to High school in Brazil, now that's a different story. Those were fun times, surfing and working out, I was pretty popular back then and dating Alessandra, who was a blue eyed, blonde brazilian-french cover girl was something I will never forget. Then again, being the stepson of a politician had its downside at times, but it wasn't bad. At 20 I was modeling for Guess and Marithe Francoise Girbaud, going to discotheques every weekend and partying like there was no end. Then again, I was really obnoxious and immature and was frustrated that Paulina Rubio (always in her grey thunderbird) wouldn't give me her number, then again, I only called Thalia a couple of times and kept running into them like if I had been cursed, damn it, I just had to settle for non famous girlfriends and Karlita Viridiana made me know my luck, so ...no, though appearing on the paper was always fun and shallow. Ok, 23, calling people everyday trying to sell them something, wearing suits and ties everyday, oh God heavens no, never again. Only Monica made those years worthwile. Fine, let's jump to 25, moving to Tepoztlan and for the first time in my life smoking a joint and discovering my spiritual self through endless mushroom and peyote trips in Oaxaca and Palenque. Having the most outrageous conversations dressed as a bird seeing the early morning rise, while sitting on the edge of a hill, drinking rum and smoking pot beyond all good and evil, beyond reason, a threshold. YES, I could go back to that... no, not really, I always felt like I was wasting my time, and I was. Ok, so we are up to 28, working as a host at hard rock cafe in cancun, again, partying like there was no tomorrow, snorkeling and snorting and ...nevermind, no. So from there we take a flight to Seattle and turning 30, beginning the longest relationship I ever had, for which I am now in the middle of my divorce. So, no, it was great to build my career solidly and get used to the NW. But still, it was like sleepwalking. Fuck, I even voted for Bush the first time he ran, and yes, my dearest dixie chick readers, he won. (Sorry, I was very missinformed but did not repeat the same mistake the second time around).
And tomorrow, 38.....WTF ??? when did that happen?
Therefore, for my birthday I'm wishing Lestat would show up to drink my blood and make me immortal, in the pale face of eternal youth. But, at my age I know that's not going to happen. It's going to be more like adding up the damages and being grateful for the little things I have accomplished. The horizon seems gloomy from here, but above all, one thing that I do have is a petit commtee of very good friends, these are priceless and outstanding individuals and you know who you are.
Me? I'm just turning 38

Blue Eyes

Between the sea
and the sky
lies the curvy horizon
which is only seen
from the white of the sand

A storm is the nemesis
strong and slow
ready to make confusion of the palette
it is the hurricane
the typhoon
awakened by the raging bull in my chest
ensnared by that voice
like a lullaby, sweet and soft
calling my name

Sailor of the air
I fearlessly prepare the ships
ready to leave port
in the evening, a week from today
and my destination
worth the adventure for a man
is Her

Courageous endeavour
shipwrecked I will end
drowned in the blue sea of her eyes
and under the sky
lost in her curvy horizon
to only be seen
calm, and asleep
on the white of her thighs

The Literature of Skin

I think our life is a book
page turner, a blank one, each time
we let others write their stories of us
no filters, no censorship

Just blank pages
ready to be written on
We stain them with ink from the fountain pen
with vampiric blood from the night before
with the love of those carefully crafted kisses
and with the tears for those we left behind

Me, nostalgic and silent
like so many others
insist on revisiting old chapters
past drama, long lost heartbreak
for we have them bookmarked
in alphabetical order

And yet, there's a blank page
like an empty coffee shop
and all the while, there's someone willing to add a footnote
a paragraph or a full chapter
some people are that way
they come and they want all or nothing
and when you least expect it
there's already half a page
but we, we weren't looking
we were too busy trying to proofread previous stories
old romances failed
blaming the flaws in ourselves
trying to find our mistakes
our self sabotage
our lack of love
owning the guilt of our misery
in an empty coffee shop
adding desperate footnotes
as we think of slashing our wrists
with the edge of a fountain pen
washing our skin to clean the sinful vampiric blood
... from the night before
remembering carefully crafted kisses
drowning in tears for those who left us behind
like a footnote
like a bookmark
and in alphabetical order

Puerto Marquez

Puerto Marquez, Mexico, 1977.
The sun is going to come up in 4 hours and I'm as frightened as I've ever been. I’m sitting on the deck of my old man's sailboat, the "Don Quijote". A 41 foot, blue, double mast Morgan, which is anchored in the middle of the bay. From here I can see the lights of the port, the Torre Blanca hotel and the cross, of the Peace Chapel, built by the Trullet's in the 70's. They are the only lights I can see.
The Main and Genoa sails are at the bow and the moonlight turns them into the silhouette of a siren. She has made of the ship her temporary home. The definition is haunting, I can see her face, breasts and the rest of the sail makes her fishtail, I can see her staring at me. Sudden wind gusts blow from the west and as it travels between the boom, the mast and the steel tension cables it makes a low key whistling noise. Slow and lazy, daunting and almost baritone, like an owl from a Bradbury cemetery.
Chills roll down my chest and my back like cold sweat drops. While I tell myself she's not really there and I know it's nothing more than two sails and the wind, but she's staring at me. Then the moonlight shines on her again, and I have nowhere to run. This has been going on for almost 2 hours now, and the early morning tide softly rocks the ship up and down. I'm only eight years old and this would not be the last I'd see of her.

The siren appeared again several times after that night, but she would wait a few years. The next time I saw her it was in the same bay, same time of the night. The year was 1984 and I had just finished talking with my old man. He was over six feet tall, thin and tan due to the constant exposure to the tropical sun. He wore a goatee and mustache and two gold hoops on his left earlobe. Once a prominent businessman who used to fly to London only to have his suits custom made, born to Swiss-German immigrants, bought this boat after his second divorce and became what he always wanted to be; A seawolf, a rebel, traveling around the world. He even had a monkey as a companion for some time and I will never forget his steel blue eyes and his daily diet that consisted of seven packs of non filter cigarettes and a bottle of tequila.
I had asked him if a girl I met that day at the pool could spend the night with me. She was a beautiful Chilean brunette, athletic and toned, with perfect high cheeks and delicate lips, sunbathed like a top sirloin, she filled her one piece, solid black bathing suit like a seal, I think about her when I hear Bon Jovi's "slippery, when wet". Anyway, she was vacationing with her mom and she was about a year older than me. The old man looked me straight in the eye and said "This is your ship, son. Here you do as you please, just as I do".
The very next day I brought her and her mother on board, and that would be the first and last time I would bring someone to meet my dad in order to get permission for my romances. To my surprise permission was granted, by both of our parents, and after returning her mother back to the hotel, well, my guest stayed for the night. It would be the warmest I ever felt that cabin, with a mix of sweat, diesel and salty sea air. Inexperience fell on the floor, shattered like fine china, and her Chilean accent.. think of it as Tennessee Spanish. For some reason that memory will always live with me, and the siren was my witness and that cabin became and would remain mine for years to come.

Port of Call

Standing barefoot by the window
I see the moon in all her loneliness
through the spiral of my cigarette
she lights and shades a cloud
silk scarf, caressing her round shape
time leaks
and a compulsively vomiting bullimic ashtray

I need you
and yet I hate to accept it
I need your air to breathe
there's nothing more for me
than the wetness of your kisses
and the stream between your thighs

call me
I’m like a leftist cero
like an empty ballon
like a ship on the open ocean
without a compass or direction

please, call me
I’m so defenseless
I have no more will
I just can’t seem to focus
and I can’t seem to find a way out

A thousand crazy thoughts
that I had never conceived
come to mind in waves
and this time, hurting as I am
I must accept
that I need you just to stay alive
that I'm not just in love with you
but I'm completely lost
and if you don't call me
there'll be no port of call