you come with your whole body. Back arched, hips thrust forward, hands groping, toes curling...
and in that moment you seem both oblivious to and consumed by me...and in that moment, I can only wish my face were buried in the pillows again, that I could pry myself from your grip, your gaze, and cry freely...nonsensically, without having to explain....release into my own core, naked and swaddled and shaking with a grief to match your passion-- be left alone in my own waves.
and it takes everything in me to fight it back until at last you've left...and even then I can't sink into it the way I truly wish I could. Can't sob and flail for fear of drawing attention...can't go to the drawer and pull out my old photos...search and research those old familiar faces....
because to do anything of this would be to commit myself to an attempt at explanation. and I can't. I simply can't. and what's more, I don't want to.
After you've gone I scan the walls. Let my eyes rest on the blank spaces between frames. Picture for unknown reasons the face of an ex lover...my first teenage tryst...and it isn't him, then, or now, that I imagine, but the feeling of doing just what I am doing now after having left his arms...scanning the walls, exploring the emptiness that follows a fullness...
examining the desperate, disappointing peacefulness of an unreachable isolation.