Words right and loving,

Though I could feel a Russian sadness, one that suddenly breaks. Cries out in soulpain for no apparent reason.
And so it will not be for us. Gradual easing away, longer gaps between. And then?
I could be wrong. Could’ve been a bump in the road. Stomach cramp. P.M.T. Innervisions suggesting nightmares. A die cast in that moment, moment of our future decided by a weighted tossed coin. Point of time, I knew it, you were facing away gazing out of the window. I knew it would happen, had to happen. Set of your shoulders pitching against force we both felt. Force that creates bitterest enemies to the last or, lovers to the bottom of the aching pit, lovers creating voids for others to fill.
Your hair down over shoulders, shining into the light, head high, high to slow down the trickle of tears forming. Feeling your rage at my presence, my questions. Upsetness nothing could heal.
Then I realised; you were feeling the same emotions that made me leave rooms when you entered. Ache spreading across my being. Head, shaking, dry throat, hurt, Help… Want that cannot be assuaged by kisses under the mistletoe at a party, a note for celebrations, cards for congratulations…
Want only fulfilled by sweat, passions, sticky sheets unfolding into the secrets and dawn of earliest desires. Needing ended only in hurt, pain and blush red at letting go of deprived/depraved dreams. Fetishes, wants charged, dredged from sordid stories and held on from adolescence, you felt that too. Did you also see then the pain that would arise from our bodies locked together? Anger flaring from the knowing that, that was so good, sooo goood.
But this is moving on too quickly.
An instant upon us then, I wanted to hold you, feel your flesh against mine, sparrow heart beating. As good as truly unconscious passion can be. Knowing how incredible, exceptional we could be. Knowing, all this with your back turned to me. Wanting to crawl at your feet, willing for anything, agreeing to all, just, do it to me, now.
Trying to remember how we’d met. A polite introduction from a friend, music too loud (looking so good) I’m sure I was drunk again.
Had to be drunk just to be there. To ignore the noise and painfully inane chatter, that’s how these places work, get ’em drunk, make ’em think they’re having a good time.
A white dress, White strong cotton that had been washed without softener, never seen an iron, wrinkles holding the light, crevices holding captives. Were you drunk too? Or was it the light in your eyes, almonds bright as you sat kicking your legs, waiting, waiting for? Anything, waiting for me to speak, waiting for a drink, waiting to think.
Those legs that later were to wrap themselves around me, holding me captive as we loved with tongues.

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