Art by Ray Strickland
Love

It rains honesty.

I made you, as the winter set in. Chipped in my uneven edges, and the warm blush of everything I had. Added a playful squeeze, and hushed whispers of mischief. A spoonful of darkness. Shameless lust. Pages of sunlit poetry. A couple of long walks. A stolen hug. A lingering kiss. Moonlit fights. Delicious bites. Uncertainty. I gave you the best of everything and my very worst. I made you, as the chills set in.

I struggle to resist. No texting you. Yes, that’s the rule. Self imposed. Heart wrenching. Necessary.

You had stirred then, in the middle of the night. We had fallen asleep without realising when, exhausted with our usual frenzied lovemaking. We had fallen asleep, still entangled, holding on for warmth in the room that was freezing cold. Our little asylum for the madness we nurtured, away from the world. No one knew. No one had to. You stirred, I opened my eyes, and you huddled closer. Sleepy little kid under my wing. Sleepy little woman. My person. You do not know that I remember, and how I hold it close. It is a wet imprint of our time together. Indelible. Faultless.

Morning after morning, we live on.
New skies. New winds.
New hands to hold.
New eyes to smile at.
New lips to own.
New wants to eat.
New skins to rip through.
New nights to flame through.

Layer after layer on the naked mind, on and off.

I struggle to understand. Strange is the nature of vulnerability. How endearing. Honesty at the cost of perceived strength. Faith at the cost of ground slipping from beneath your feet. Being with you is like coming home. Why then do I hesitate to be weak in your presence. Why then do I stop myself from crossing the line. Why have I forgotten what it’s like.

I trudge through this wallowing darkness. Finding deep pleasure in this swirling mass. Not self pity, nope. Stirring, and stirring again. This temptress. Her heat. The sheer heat. This mind boggling compulsion to dive deep into questions and counter questions. Indulging the carnal, the human, the lowly desires. And running around in circles.

I sip at it. Liquid courage. Golden light. Crystal frame. Sways my sensibilities and words flow out. They had to. Sleep won’t touch me tonight unless the knot is loose. Too tight. Far tight. Clenched. Hurting. But numb. Hard. Oh how the words flow out. It’s been so long. Seasons together. Spring and Summer, all gone, wordless. Did they even exist?

Post midnight. Raga Malkauns. The ocean sings out to me as I steer through. Calm again. Memories of lovers stowed away for another day. The taste of bitter shall call out again, some day. Stowed away for now. A new sun rises again.

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