Smoke

I am crying over you. You are leaving.

I will not tell you about how I have soaked my pillow or of how I feel my heart is deflating with every hour closer to that day. For it would make you sad.

Every drop of moisture coming from me-sweat, spit, tears, in my exhaled breath-is in honor of you.

~~~

I

THOU hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forgot that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest. Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar. When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the One in the play of the many.

IV

By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. But it is otherwise with thy love, which is greater than theirs, and thou keepest me free. Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes by after day and thou art not seen. If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart-thy love for me still waits for my love.

V

I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the threshold of this life. What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery like a bud in the forest at midnight? When in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world, that the inscrutable without name and form had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother. Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me. And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well. The child cries out when from the right breast the mother takes it away to find in the very next moment its consolation in the left one.

-Rabindranath Tagore {Gitanjali, 357}

Primer

You cannot speak of it.

Without a word from you, I proceed.

Kneeling over you, I sink down on your erect dick.  You did not need to touch me, for I want to moisten and lubricate and let it run down the length of you. To tangle in the silky dark bush that covers your nutsac, that swirls along the root of you and creeps towards your stomach.

The sharp pain of my barely warm cunt encasing you makes us both gasp.

So, I proceed.

I move, slightly. Those are my hips.

My mouth moves at a faster pace. That is what you want.

Reading to you, words from my past. Words that no one else knows, but me and the dawn or the dim candlelight that saw them born.

As I read to you, you relax and yet you go deeper in to me. I receive more and more until I feel you pushing against the mouth of my womb.

I try to angle away but you push me down firmly, causing me to stumble and lose my place along the words that you need so badly to hear.

The words  are coming at a rapid pace, tumbling out of my lips and cracking against your eardrums.  You clench your jaw to keep the sounds in but they are leaking out, like smoke from a chimney on a cold, cold day.

For every story I share, you give me an orgasm.  You hold tightly to my wrists, so that I keep my place and do not drop my book.

My book. A secret journal. The thing that binds us to your fantasies and my heart.

Because you cannot speak, I do.

I use my mouth to push sounds from my reality into yours. My pussy talks to you, as it gets wetter and wetter, coaxing you to get harder than you imagined you could.

I cry out, as you make me come more and more.

You feel my hair brush against the tops of your thighs, as I bow backwards.

The serpent that I have heard of but not seen unwinds and shoots up, it head pushing out of my mouth. My breath pushes past it, bees buzzing as they are released from the hive of my soul.

Because I must, I pull back from the eternity you flung me into and keep reading. The words are blurry to my eyes but I can recite them from the memories craved in my skull.

So, I proceed.

I must push you to where I just emerged from.

I proceed until you are there, trapped;  my name steaming in the crisp air of the darkened room.

Twisted

I have heard that when wise women set spells in knots, they stay until the knot is undone.

But we are all bound to something, scared or secular.

Here is food for thought on the feminine and the draw towards religion.

Some knots seem to never be broken.

loss

Sometimes it seems to me that I have spent my life in a process of discarding things, rather than acquiring them. One symbol or symptom of this is the material–Its not that I am not a sentimental person. I am. In some ways. But for some reason my sentiment doesn’t attach to possessions or material things. I don’t have photos, for example, or photo albums. I don’t have keepsakes, I travel light.
I wish I did have these things sometimes, but they run through my fingers like water, like air.

Sometimes it makes me sad, this seeming inability I have to save material things…I think it’s that i don’t trust them, or that I cant bear to hold them and then lose them–so i lose them myself, first, like leaving people also–
I look for you always, in every international airport I arrive in, the expectant faces there. How long will it be, I wonder, til I cease doing this? The involuntary lift of my heart upon arrival, the drop, when I remember, you will not be meeting me, –and when you do, when i allow you to again, it will not be the same. Not those meetings we once had, for so long…one of us jumping the barrier and running to the other. How many times did people applaud us, when we’d stop kissing finally? I’d blush always, we couldn’t look at the crowd, only each other…and then we’d hurry, to get to the parking garage, to the car, so we could kiss again, no audience this time.

This flight, I look out at the dear and familiar country below me, the plane banks, drops, beginning its final descent…always before I’d feel my heart lift at that moment, and it did again, but then dropped with the plane. I pressed my hand against the glass, felt the coldness sink into my hand, the only clue that the air is thin.

I looked for you in the crowd, helplessly, although it was not you meeting me. I will not be running down the ramp here, nor will I jump a barrier–Someone else is meeting me, here.

I turn my face from his kiss, at first. You hold me and are gentle with me, you know my wariness, my heart, that I am here to see (–), and make an ending. All day you take your time with me, we see our friends, talk books. This tension between us, that night. That party, the stairs, you followed me home like a puppy, and I wouldn’t let you in, we wrestled on the stairs. You pleaded with me to come home with you, I wouldn’t. You were very sweet and a bit drunk, you’d have to be to have been so bold, and you were very tempting. Then (–) and I were together, and you and I were unfinished.

Pub. later, and later that night you fuck me in tenderness and sorrow, and it is exactly, exactly, exactly what I need. Please, annihilate me, help me obliterate thought. We do.

I want to be riven, undone. This is the best and surest way I know to escape the prison of self. Better than any other derangement of the senses. I do not want to think about (—), I do not want to think about saying goodbye to him. I want to fuck you, to be fucked by you, until all thought and memory is obliterated.

Bed. Your body isnt what I expected somehow, yet I love your uncut cock, and remember the first time long ago that it rose for me like this, pushing into my hand. How you gasped when I uncovered you that way, the silky smoothness of the head, the stickiness of your preum there. You bit your lip and leaned into me, kissing my neck, murmuring to me, your hands on my breasts. I wanted you to have me me right there, up against the wall.

Now. Help me. Make me not think.