Jason Bryne: My identity

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I’ve always known you to be the side I desire most. Charming, tactful, and an introverted sense of prideful regality, you were always the much needed parody to my father’s snooty unchecked arrogance and satiristically affluent in my mother’s pretention but always stood above the beast’s jaws, crooning to its frustration, a cheeky chesher grin in tow.
You are the face of my whisper, sighs, quality of speak, and verbal desires. Promises, praises, temptations, and phrases, no limits lie with your words. Your voice comes in but two flavors; either deep in dreamy silked laced concoctions of sensual relatability or notes of candor, lucid in strife or free like a young vibrant breeze. Should you have your druthers, the dead would rise to your coffeehouse conversations, serving the lost their liquid fix to continue daily reminders of broken dreams. Perhaps some endearing love locked cream upon their white cappuccino froth might spark a lip tickle, may you be so bold? Caramels, toffee, dark chocolate torani, leave you not without a smile? Kiss a spot of vanilla joy to keep their fleeting hopes alive for but the most ephemeral of moments in that you’ve aided in ones breakthrough.
Your love is your strength, your tongue, cloak and dagger, those lips, your blood and chocolate, May I reunite to your boot stepped swagger, eyes to the sky, the dawn your playground, immersed in a sea of smiling faces. May we become one once more for another dance with the stars, eyes to the sky with indulgence on our lips.





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