It doesn’t matter They didn’t matter I almost cringe when I see my little fixations The momentary distractions When you arrive When new images of you fill my eyes It begins anew Behind the deepest desires and dreams and haunting There is you
A song plays and a memory surfaces Someone laughs Someone is surprised Someone has a regional accent And I can feel the fur on your chest again I can feel you in my mouth I cry I fail to break free I will not let go under any circumstance Because you will not let me
These days pass So many My perpetual homme-based stasis Is it some kind of sick bliss?
You will not come You will not go You will not put a foot down and release me You will not slip an arm around my now small waist and embrace me as you should have four years ago You will not declare anything
So I’ll wait Until death Until it’s clear that love has finally blossomed in some other meadow Until something shiny draws me away for long enough that the dust can finally settle Until maybe someone different and unexpected slips an arm around my waist and claims me for good And even then there will be no permanence Until you close the door on me
Makes me possession Makes me possessed Freezes time Burns fine cobwebs away that had gently begun to form after four months of silence Stirs rich, luxurious memories Sets imagination on a runaway course to fantasies of love and lust and perfect resolution Narrows focus to a pinpoint Spreads my legs and heart open wide to the mere idea of his smile Brings tears to my eyes Fills my throat with mewling noises and whispers Starts a ticking clock Stops the incremental healing Erases offenses Draws possibilities Leaves me struggling with questions …so many questions
Who acts like this about something so infinitesimally insignificant? What do I do next? When is he coming back? Where is he right now? Why now? How do I walk the earth knowing he is present again? Does this mean return is imminent? Will he? Is he? Can we? Finally?
It was nothing more than a virtual nod It was a nonchalant acknowledgment of fact about a Smithereens song
The woman you’ve known for over ten years is a cog in the epidemic that’s fueling the pandemic Also, you’ve come to realize your friendship with her is performative and has been all along She’s sicker than you’ve ever been and you can’t stop comparing and judging her because she doesn’t have what you want and never has You imagined it and she didn’t meet up to the image you had of her It’s illusory
Your son won’t adhere to even the smallest of safety guidelines you ask him to follow …Also he asks you for money when he has more than you ever did at his age and eats all the ice cream in the middle of the night, can’t seem to schedule his showers when they don’t conflict with yours and doesn’t dispose of his used condoms properly
Your millennial workplace bosses promote the same millennials over and over while you and your other older coworkers get recognized for nothing and your wrinkles and gray keep showing Also, after Labor Day, thanks to people like the aforementioned “friend”, there will be no “return to normalcy”
Have an email fight with your landlord over grout in your tub that is turning black Enjoy his mansplain efforts on management’s recommendation that tenants use toothbrushes and “disenfectant” to clean Also, have the actual maintenance person tell you to your face that the grout was done wrong (with latex) and should be done with silicone Doesn’t seem shady
You can’t seem to stop meeting people who hurt you or at the very least, disregard you Also, don’t give up on love Also, redirect that frustration into something positive (because the last ten years of trying to do that have gone SO well) C’mon and channel that sexual energy
Masks back on Even for you who got vaccinated Stay home again and only go places where people are spread out and far apart There will be no intimate moments in a crowd or a thumping bass at a concert Also, it’s not like you have anywhere to go You’re old now Nobody wants to see your wrinkled old ass in a club,lady
Try to appreciate all your blessings Struggle to do some deep belly breathing Do your best to engage your diaphragm And do butterfly tapping And soften your pelvic floor muscles And imagine that you are safe and calm And cry because the depth of your trauma and neglect will maybe never allow a natural moment’s peace Sex and tv and mild substances and distractions maybe
Do I have to write you another letter? I need to tell you how I think about you I need to It’s a need Like breathing Like sleeping
What you did was golden
It was one of those perfect moments Standing in the open doorway of the drivers side of my car pressed up against me in my seat, my legs not quite wrapped around you because if they had been, you’d have had my dress up to my hips and you’d have been inside me in the parking lot of an ice cream stand at a busy intersection.
You were kissing me, hands pressing down on my hips squeezing, telling me how you’d have me in bed and then your finger so gently in my mouth and your tongue and I nearly faint every time I see it in my mind It’s mine My memory My perfect perfect memory of the beginning of what could be
And what died harder and faster and more painfully than any muse encounter death that preceded it Shockingly sudden with no denouement No catharsis No resolution Just “good luck”
This kind of sayonara is unacceptable I cannot I DO deny it Because we fit You have no idea do you? Did you? Why can I see the potential in a lover so well? So easily?
I wish for lack of foresight in romance and sex I wish to have my sensual memory erased Eternal sunshine of the sexless mind please Because this kind of relentless dwelling on the possibilities is not useful Merely propels me into the arms of more destruction and regret and disappointment
What I wouldn’t do for that kiss. So much paper for writing letters.
The Truth And Purpose 