Thank you, Spiderman

A few weeks back, I  blogged about my Sunday with Pickle and Spiderman, and how Spiderman had sent me home with some very thoughtful presents: homemade herbal ointments and a nice bud of weed.

“It was the sweetest gift of all time,” I wrote. “Until two days later.”

That’s when I received his email.

Spiderman had read my blog in its entirety. Something nobody has really done. Not my close friends. Not my parents. Mr. D reads each post, but even his expertise in IT business analysis hasn’t translated to Google Analytics for my site. And as a pothead with killer business acumen, he hasn’t looked into cultivating potential ad revenue. (But I’m not mad. I am anxiously looking forward to fasting for your health and well-being this Wednesday, Oct. 19, on the fourth day of the waning moon. You are the great love of my life, and I hope our love may be forever blessed by the heavens above. By the sun, the stars, and the moon.)

The moon is crucial. Spiderman knows. In an email entitled, “Here goes haha,” this is what he wrote:

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The tuuuuuub

Every few months, I take a vacation day to day-drink in Philly with one of my most favorite people in the world. And every time we meet, I bring up the tub incident (correction, the tuuuuuub incident)… just to hear him re-tell one of my favorite stories in the world. So thank you, ELS, for sharing this precious, glorious gem.

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By ELS

In his poem “Mending Wall,” Robert Frost said “Good fences make good neighbors.” This truth has resonated in me through many years of living around people, and while it makes the most literal sense in the deep woods of rural Maine, I live in South Philly and share a breezeway with a crackhead. I’m just saying, the rules aren’t necessarily followed.

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My birthday poem

Thank you, Mr. D, for another gorgeous birthday poem. You are my favorite writer of all time, and I love you more than words.

The first thought to come to my mind as I sit, and ponder my love for my partner is this (a smile makes its way to the tip of my lips, and I think): “I’m the luckiest guy to exist!”

So I guess it makes sense to compose me a list. To enumerate reasons why you are the shit. But it seems, as I think, that I always do this. So let me just give it a bit of a twist.

I’ll give you some insight, a window into, to the way that I feel, when I’m feeling on you. My thoughts as you do all the things that you do, and how your mere presence can improve my mood.

The touch of your skin, so soft and so smooth, immediately sets all my thoughts on the move. Progression from my soft and comfortable groove, to hot and excited, my dick’s hard and BOOM

We’re off to the races, I feel so alive! A second to breathe, then I race down your thighs. My thoughts at this time are admittedly vile, I wanna fuck now and not stop ‘till you cry.

But after I think, as you lay by my side, that I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect ride. Day in—and night out—with you by my side; my lover, my goddess, my sex toy, my bride.

I can’t help but think, as I ponder our love, that we are so blessed, from inside and above. The way that your body fits mine like a glove, sets my mind to spinning, I reel with thoughts of…

Your body, our passion, your sex and our love. Our time spent together seems sent from above. So pure and so precious yet filled with thoughts of, the hottest and nastiest, sexiest love!

Besides thoughts of loving (which I must admit, take up a good portion when thinking a bit), I can’t help but think of the way that you sit with our goombas, the joy on your face plainly writ.

My heart starts to swell up, the joy is legit. There’s nothing more special or precious to it, than the feeling I’m granted whenever I get, to be with my family, a bliss that won’t quit.

But back to my baby, the queen of the hour. My succulent, beautiful, delicate flower. The woman—the only one—who holds the power, to influence my mood (whether happy or dour).

But even at times when the mood has turned sour, and beneath the weight of her anger I cower, I know that it won’t last that long because our, love is the strongest, most beautiful flower.

A flower that blooms with the passing of time, that each day gets sweeter inside of my mind. Yet all flowers wilt when compared to my bride, mere candles compared to her brilliance of mind…

…the depth of her spirit, her beauty divine, her ageless persona much finer than wine; her aura, her presence, her passion, her drive. I pray that our sprits entwine for all time.

More often I think of our spirits this way. Moreover I realize every day, “I’ll do it tomorrow” cannot be the way. We need to live life to the fullest. Today.

But what does that mean? Should we go away? Should we practice yoga or meditate, pray? To find inspiration outside the mundane? Or embrace that mundane and fuck what they say?

For what is mundane when it’s me and my bay? Togetherness, both mind and body at play? Happiness, laughter and family? Hey—if this is mundane then I’ll take it all day.

‘Cause family is happiness, wouldn’t you say? Regardless of locale, at home or away. Together with you, and Big A/Litle A, that’s home to me, and that’s where I will stay.

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