I grabbed your soft essence and stroked it to full length. The motions were succinct and yet exactly what I wanted to say. Did you listen? Because I won’t have the courage to tell you ever again.
“I miss you,” I said seductively.
I missed you in ways I didn’t know were possible to get back.
I’ll admit that it was me, the one who has depleted your honor, that no matter how much I fight it, something about me demands your submission. So I was surprised to see you here. I had never imagined a moment so accompanied by a passionate desire. I still can’t really understand. I pretended to that night. I was starring up at you, your eyes lingering and our bodies lifted. I allowed your valor to confront my taut lips and nothing else, no further. I bowed my head and breathed our stench. We’d lay our excrements on the shore and they’d be waiting for us there. But what derives from the world should never be wading through the sea. Do you remember? Nights we would lay our heads down you made a steward of yourself over this very truth. But what happens if the world leaks in, can we survive it.
The flame flickered as you dragged, sucking in hard air mixed with marijuana. The smell of your froth welled up through my inhales and cooled off with each exhale. You kissed me wet and in an unoriginal circadian of motions, so I never made plans to stop. You missed me too that night. Some part of you had taken responsibility for the circumstantial hunger within us both. The facilitation of starvation, its process: the longing, the weight. I am missing everything that is in front of me, then, I was just too set on the depths we had to survive, but now floating on you feels like drowning.
It was your diffidence that repelled me. I tried to drown this part of you. I wished you only return to shore with you. Kissing my neck and wailing along with the quietus in my womb. I wished for no more traces of contamination, funk, or carnal knowledge void of tamping. You wanted the same, I can feel it now. But all you did was usher me in for one kiss. It was unusually heavy.
I am alive now. You love me. But when will you reveal this powerful intuition – the one that knew I would break you, that I was fleeting? I know the ecstasy was overwhelming, but why didn’t you rest yourself in me?
I told you to meet me on a Friday morning, at 3:30 am, when it was too early to be up and yet too real to be frustrated, so it was peaceful. I had hoped that a tomorrow might ignite our will to go on further than ever before. I wanted to zoom past you, to meet you on the coast where my soul comes alive. You were to keep driving until you met the nature most true to you; I wasn’t abandoning you, it was peaceful. But you didn’t bring him to me, you brought what was on the shore into the sea, assuring me no harm. He must be naked, I must be naked, so what do you think it felt like to be polluted? Still, I told him to arrive at the baptismal. To travel away from unswayed and to leave behind skeptical, we didn’t require baggage, only skills that would get us to the other side, far from the former, to grow stronger in the morning.