Lying in his arms after what seems like eons of self denial of never daring to set foot on his unclaimed, unowned prime bit of real estate I longed to be sole proprietor, I lived for the first time. This is part of the lies I told myself knowing he rented and leased to other female bidders at prices well below his worth in my youthful hazy mind.
I now allow my heart, soul, spirit to hemorrhage words of love that had only had a home within me with the address of Rejection Lane across from Ridicule Boulevard.
His chest rises and falls with the cadence of my confession of love at first sight; which refused my diligent efforts to be classified as delusion, obsession, insanity. My brain and prayers screamed - destiny to being the one he would one day love.
Inhaling his maleness after slow sensual lovemaking with no hurry to scrub off the essence of shared oneness; my words are firm, bold, yet whispered orgasmic release.
How to end a sentence expressing a juevenile love which has matured with the gray hairs on both our heads and private parts that danced a sexual dance choreographed by Adonis and Venus themselves.
The period, not exclamation point, the plasmic coagulation that comes at the end of every bleeding with any luck was: “You were my it and will always be.”
With one more inhalation followed by a slower emptying exhalation he said: You should write books. Your words reach deep changing realities built by circumstances of youth, fear, and hidden insecurities. {He understood}
Only true love can be so well blended with beauty and tragedy that drives a person’s passion to find a way until death to return mutual, sheilded, unceasing, misdiagnosed love.
Silence followed as we both realized here we lay naked and unblinded with no way to return to our ignorance or practiced escapes. Years of needing a heart transplant and we were each others only match.
The tightest embrace came with a kiss sweeter than nectar stained with the knowledge we each belonged to someone else. We were an overused lyric in a Rhythm and Blues song sung for each new generation of lovers trapped in loveless relationships.
Eyes meeting and begging never to let go as our hearts began to build a wall so it would not shatter and break from the realizations of so many wrong choices too late to be undone.
Ignorance is bliss. Love never realized is kind. We parted with each others soul and no where to house them. He has mine and I have his in that dimension humans know they can travel but have not quite figured out how to get there. That place where everything wrong can be righted if only courage and bravery were needed and carried out with swiftness and no pondering of collateral pain.
A light has dimmed in both of us. We walk and talk and live our old lives in the same empty fashion while we ache to embrace in guilt and shame again.
Secret love, secret love for one reason or another is the most painful love of all.
