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Two Months Later



Two Months Later
By kayakndan on 06/26/2014
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The pillow still weeps of you
The salt-smell of a thousand nights of our wanders
Into mutual wonders
Soaked through, soaked from you
Wafts eternal through the nose that still brings me life
Unwanted, but life nonetheless.
Forlorn memories alone for small comfort
At least there are those.
They are part of you.

Itchy eyes bore lamenting holes into a ponderous ceiling.
Where's your caress now? Another pillow, afar from here.
Rolling over, reaching,
There is no comforting curve of your hip
No soft sound of your sigh
How many times a night did my soft, slow stroke of the skin
Arouse us both away from the body's sleep
And into the coupling anew of laughing spirits
Eager to dismiss a temporary hour of rest
For another day of sampling an ever-lasting love?

The table is set for one now, everywhere I sup.
The merlot bottles emptied completely, unshared.
No one to spoil with impromptu main courses
Boiling our kitchen with spicy wonders on quiet weekends
while our friends went out to party loudly.
Our rhythmic festivities were realized in the sounds and tastes
The aroma of released ills, sizzled flesh the teeth could enjoy.
Smacking skin, slickened motions, ecstatic cries, later
Creaking bedsprings, sizzling cigarettes, impelled sighs,
And the whispered, tendered affections
furtively, low, kissed into each other's ear
before the embrace of the naughty nights
bade us to hold close,
the naked bodies we danced with
in our private marionette show.

All gone now.
You. Me. Us.
Not the first. Probably not the last.
Supposed years of future existence lie ahead for us, after all.
Moving on is the norm, right?
Still, the occasional moment of our meeting
Rushed, uneasy, wounded-
instances of nodding convincing each other
All is well. A day's contentment and whatnot. We smile and part ways.
Fighters in their prime,
each to their corners to face the next opponents
Sent up by the cards to the ring of life.
God, did I love our tussle!
Alas for us, the TKO has been declared.
Dammit! The lonesome pillow is a pad for the racing mind.
It was a springboard for our passion, now only my regrets, my questions.

Does your heart pound in memorized fury or tingling temptation?
Does your breathing draw uncertain panic or convicted strength?
Does your fingertips wish to claw my eyes
or reach out for my recalled caress?
Does those eyes glisten with tears of lament
or alight with the notion of the hopeful Possible?
Or do only mine,
two months later?

? By kayakndan On 6/26/2014 1:28:06 AM
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