leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- sex on morphine and loss of love for wisdom So you're back from your journey. And I really believed you were gone for good. I ached for you but adjusted to the thought of never again. Mostly because I knew it would be best. But you called and said here you were. I beckoned and you came to me and settled on the couch in front of the big window and I straddled your lap and laid my hands where our bodies met. The position I've held a million times. You showed me your new tattoo and I kissed my approval around it at the base of your neck. Not quite tasting you, not quite finding your scent. As if while away you'd been scrubbed clean of everything, that to me, meant you. You put your hands on my hips and asked if I'd been okay and I shrugged in reply (because I'm a warrior and we don't show our wounds or confess our sins) and when you shook me and growled at me for my silence, I threw my head back and laughed. I know what that does to you and, Pavlovian, you flicked your tongue and threatened my exposed neck. I left your lap to pour oil named Heaven into the burner on the table. And you followed like you missed my warmth. You stood behind me, pulled me to tiptoe and pressed me to the wall to devour my neck and shoulders making me wet and untrustworthy. You found: lighthouses in the dark of my hair, sirens in my shoulders and arms holding our weight off the wall, need in my mouth, and welcome crushed against my arched form. I pulled you to the bed. My magnet unearthing your metal. Both of us begging sweetly for what was already offered. My softest self wet against your mouth. Me sucking eagerly at your fear and power. Stopping to tease us both. Turning to lick my taste off your lips and run my nails through your hair. We made love. Deep and familiar, home, but 1800 miles and counting from safe or free. My heart resting on the razor edges of your childish lack of life. It was done and I helped you dress and felt like you'd already gone, or like you'd never been there at all. Surprisingly no panic, no ache in my chest, no desire to slice the alone of you leaving into my skin. Just subdued sad in that poor baby way. For once feeling sorry for you not me. Could it be true... Is the spell broken? Am I free? Or just free-floating in shock? Loving you with a Morphine drip, or not in love anymore. The telltale answer being that my body knew the difference. For once I felt the Absence...of the desire to simultaneously worship and consume you...the sensation that I would go mad from the pleasure of touching you everywhere...the belief that if given the choice between your scent and oxygen I would gladly suffocate...the desire to crawl inside your flesh and somehow love and heal you from the inside. This was different: shallow, escapable. Is that what it feels like...sex without being in love with you? That, I can turn my back on. That, I can let go. Freed from the need for you that has circled every other possibility. Freed from the certainty that I would always return to you if you wanted me. I'm frightened that perhaps I was happier suffering, just to know love like that. Even if it was unrequited. Dokk, what have you done? Or undone? 10:38 a.m. - July 07, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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