Climax and Abyss

Naked skin. Perfect intimacy, yet so far apart.

The side of my face tightly pressed against your chest.

Kaboom… Kaboom… Kaboom…

“Isn’t it crazy”, I say to you “that our life depends on the rhythmic cramps of this one big muscle in our chest? How the “person” inside us is just gone, when it stops beating?”

I imitate the pumping of a heart with my tiny fist.

Clench, release. Clench, release.

“Mmmhh”, you answer.

 

I shut up.

I know it’s not exactly a chatty moment, but I like the comfort I get from thinking aloud about topics that distract me from my deeper worries.

Your smell has changed since you came to my house.

From a fresh herb garden and the sea breeze running through the leaves of a coconut palm

To the scent of an angry tiger, moist and acidic.

 

Ain’t we a match made in heaven?

You tell me your past and I feel you’re talking about myself.

The struggles you went through, the decisions you took.

Your conscious effort to be more than what you were conditioned to be.

The choices you make and your reasoning behind it.

The relationships you foster and the freedom you are fighting for.

The freedom you demand, the freedom you give and the freedom you discover in the nature of being.

The sentences I start and you finish, the co-creation of understanding simplicity.

 

You clear your throat.

My attention switches back to the present moment, the bed we lie in.

Bliss and embarrassment collide.

So close, so far apart.

The pressure of expectation, the cosiness of your arms and the disenchantment between us.

I wanted you, didn’t I?

When we got to know each other, I wanted you, didn’t I?

When you hugged me, I wanted you, didn’t I?

When you kissed me, I wanted you, didn’t I?

When you ate me, I wanted you, didn’t I?

When you stepped out of bed to grab a condom, I wanted you didn’t I?

 

Lust is a fragile bond.

Triggered by the mysterious,

kindled by spontaneity,

inflamed by wanting gazes and welcoming touch.

 

Lust is a fragile bond.

Shaken by doubt,

Hit by reason,

Extinguished by worry.

 

A match made in heaven,

You’re my mirror.

In our aspirations as much as in our hesitation.

In our spiritual climax as much as in the erotic abyss.

 

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