Burying my face in the bodies of other lovers in my futile attempts to forget you. Giving them pieces of me that are undeniably meant for you. I only want to forget the sensation but you are embedded in my flesh. Embedded in the memory of me. You are tormenting me whenever you are not here. The desire to be with my lover is growing but the desire is in vain. I am overwhelmed with the feelings of future dissatisfaction thinking about never having the chance to feel those lips. To kiss those lips. The obsession with the lips of my lover is feeding more into this gut wrenching sensation. Why does the lover who moves the body in such ways deny the openness of more than just a warm thighs? Why does it feel that nothing is ever reciprocated? I fall for you every chance that’s given and it’s involuntary, for I would have never decided to give myself in this way. But I miss you. I can’t deny that. To have been able to have this effect on me I am finding it hard to still convince myself that maybe we shouldn’t be meeting like this. Running over the minutes laughing in between as if nothing else matters. I could be full and still be unable to be satisfied from just one taste. What makes you envied is making me weak and I would rather find another way to live. Another way to be.
But I am still screaming out your name even in the presence of others.
Surely you want me back, lover. Because I still want you.
There are three pillars that lead to the death of a relationship: complacency, contentment and comfortability. Co-occurring with periods of emotional and physical neglect. The mind begins to preoccupy itself with other worldly things. No showers of compliments, no real acknowledgements of the woman before him. A lot of words beginning with the letter C and yet, nothing is in representation to the correlation of the woman cuming. I don’t know, maybe, just maybe, this is why I am here tonight. The other night lying there in bed and, there is an understanding in the inability to justify the actions that lead to me being here with you, but the body was limp and the flesh was ripe and sore. There is no real care to justify the natural desires of the body, the defense is pointless. So, what is expected of a woman who is bored? Tired of denying herself the rightful pleasures of enjoying every millisecond of an utmost pleasing orgasm. How many other ways can it be expressed that there are needs that are being ignored? Begging in silence for the touch of my lover, the aches begin. My lover has no idea what he does to me. Mi amante, dime qué quieres hacer conmigo esta noche. Mi vida, mi cuerpo te necesita…..The shame in looking at a garden in which no one cares to water and tend to anymore. The three pillars of death are present and I am asked if I’m ever scared to get caught. Caught? What is there to get caught with or of or from or what have you? You’re speaking to a woman who is trying to survive. The risk, that excitement, that satisfaction that my lover brings is worth it every time. Am I️ scared? Fear leaves the moment you accept that sometimes things just don’t change no matter how hard you pray or try. At this point, what is there really to lose?
Maybe there’s a misunderstanding, can you repeat the question?
Think it was a quarter to three this morning, trying to get ready for work, the usual routine to begin a Saturday. Body barely able to maneuver itself from the left side of the bed. The Tiffany grey velvet chaise in the corner sitting there appearing lonely, empty. The lighting was giving it a soft silhouette against my pale creme colored walls. It never matters what time of the morning it is, I never want to leave the bed where you so selfishly had your way with me. The thoughts that fill the mind as soft curls descend upon satin pillows, man are we gorgeous together. Sometimes a smile appears across lips just in awe and disbelief. The topic of your complexion is my favorite subject. It’s total perfection. Utterly blissful to lay lips against. A few words were once spoken with promises to stay away. My lover, you are dangerous to a woman like myself…. The ability to reduce a woman of substance to nothingness lies in the most prized part of your being. The way words are written against the flesh, the forceful nature of screaming out the name of the man who moves mountains closer together so that the tongue can caress peaks in unison. The selfishness to the core of our bones is overpowering a sane mind to quit while she is ahead. Yet, I cannot fathom another night without the warmth of you between my thighs. I should feel guilty but I am overwhelmed as replays of tongue and erected flesh flash vividly against the darkness of an empty room.
Oh lover, you are more than just a dangerous man. You are the man who rules me and I cannot stay away from the man who’s lips are made of silk and honey.
It’s warm tonight. Bare feet against the heated pavement. I love watching the sunset from the third floor. Nothing but a t-shirt that barely covers my breast and cheeky boy shorts on this evening. Maybe a few stars joining in on this show. I feel good. I feel full. I feel sexy again. And it’s on nights like this I’m convinced I need to get away from you.
But I remember those lips. They feel so good. So soft.
We are becoming reckless. And careless. Gifts. Morning kisses. Missed punctuations. What are we doing? How are we going to explain this? We knew this should’ve been us from the beginning. Why are we always so scared to ask for all that we want? This is no longer about just chemistry, no, this is about the recklessness in our actions. How terrible can two lovers be when nobody wants to leave?
I should really be conducting myself better than this, being that I am practically a married woman, although everyone knows almost doesn’t count. But explain that to a man who comes from a home where love was never questioned. It’s hard to get a conditioned mind away from the concept of monogamy.
We met a couple years ago and I have not been able to get you off my mind, I mean even in my deepest thoughts you appear and I am excited, aroused and terrified. What does this mean for me? This is more than an obsession, you know that right? I communicate with you more than I really should but even when I want to stop I am tortured with the memories of our last evening together. I was so sore that morning but my body had no limits. The addiction, the moment you touch me, I swear my body comes alive and you wear me so proudly. I pretend to be timid so you can demand more of me, did you know that I love being told what to do? Sometimes I think I wrote you into existence, you’re just too perfect, my lover. I am selfish for my desire of wanting to own you, of wanting you to only belong to me but my dear, I refuse to let go. The thought of another woman placing her lips where I’ve been so many times and not appreciating or relishing the deliciousness of you on her tongue, really brings forth a jealousy I didn’t think I had before our bodies were introduced. You need to be appreciated, in every manner and usage of the word.
The beauty of our relationships not only lie in the mistakes we make but in the way we handle the endings/beginnings. At least, I think so. When I look at them I remember why I believe so much in love and life. When I look at them I am remembering what love looks like, what love is and who love is. What pushes me and is what pushes them farther away from each other. So many parts of us wither away from the lack of understanding, the lack of compassion, the lack of foundation. I’ll always be the first to say I really don’t know much about shit, but, I do know many are living their lives as fools because holding on is always easier than letting go. Because when we let go, then what? What happens next? Is there a next? It’s the unknown that we all struggle with, all of us. But what fun is living life as a fool when you could lie your burdens down and be free? There should never be expectations when it comes to human behavior. Never. I think when it comes to teaching acceptance as a virtue, keeping in mind that fucked up shit happens, and how you move forward is your graduating ceremony. Whenever I look at them I am reminded of my favorite sci-fi movie “what dreams may come”. The movie of a man that loses his kids one day and dies the next day, only to have his wife commit suicide. But he speaks/lives through her paintings. He goes from heaven (because suicides go to hell, according to this movie) to save her from an eternity of hell but she doesn’t recognize him. It’s not until he begins to lose his mind that she begins to remember him. But it’s too late, his risked paradise to be by her side because he believed they were soulmates. In the end, he wakes up back in paradise with her next to him, he was brave enough to risk it all because he believed in their love. Do you believe in soulmates? I never did until I began to really watch them, watch them grow, watch them create and save each other over and over again. All the ways they would risk paradise for each other, I watched them become. Their eyes would light up and I’ve watched her speak life into him so many times, in so many ways. The revival of his spirit. The beauty in her being. The beginning of their love is always worth writing about. Their ending has been their best performance. With every great story, even the greatest formation of well-rounded, thorough characters things happen. Love fades and changes and regresses and hurts and sometimes love does the unthinkable. My parents are a modern day tragedy. Soulmates. Two fools living in a world without each other. Whenever I look at them I am reminded why “what’s next” should be the core of my marriage&family practice, because, what is next now that the hurts there. “What’s next” is the pillar to healing. Do we live this life alone or, should we attempt to be brave one last time and ask each other “what’s next”?