A drop with wings unfurled is no guarantee of flight

Wind
Gentle lover
Caresses my skin
Cold dreams
Distant rumble
Frenzy clicks and clatters
Torn out by the root
I fly
Drift and tumble
Each ungentle touch breaking me
Moving me further
Each shift a step forward
Flight in the maelstrom
Glory
…….
Subsides
Discarded by the road
Having drifted
No further than sight
Of home

Confusion is perfectly normal

I am a creature full of mourning for a relationship that is and was and could have been and may yet still be. If you find that confusing, all I can say is welcome to my life. This happens more often than not. Perhaps I am an addiction that is almost but not quite enough or maybe when I see a person I am connected to I have little regard for consequence and instead throw my heart to the crucible and dare them to join me.

It’s hard to see someone you love make a choice that takes them away. To a better place almost assuredly but still it’s hard to see them go and the heart crushes under the weight of too familiar pain.

So why do I do this time and again? Honestly, I know of no other way to be. I love. I fall in love. I see. I choose. I wait. I break. It is as if these are what I am and while I am many things beside, at the core, love is who I am.

Even in my dreams 

I dreamed last night about a woman with dark hair. A bit curly. with dark eyes that smouldered. She had curves and valleys. She was looking for something and found me. I don’t believe that I was what she was looking for. We ended up in my bed. King size, cream colored silk sheets. With a 4 point suspension rig. Kissing her was like kissing a waterfall. Tentative, just the edge then power and passion that nearly wipes you away until you are standing in the middle, fierce joy and need, a fire burning. Our clothes disappeared and we stood with our imperfections baired. We fell on each other like starving wolves. Tongues and nails. Teeth and flesh. The first orgasm was a thing of abandon and need. Something that tore out of us to beat heavy on the warming air. We slowed long enough to hear her desire to fuck me with a strap on. Flash to me face down in the cooling sheet while she pounds into my ass with a fuschia dildo. It was glorious. Pain and pleasure and the thought of the beautiful woman wanting this. Flash to us spent on the bed.

I look quizzically at the suspension rig and she nods eagerly. She likes pain and being out of control, sometimes, then. I lock her in and suspend her. Black leather caressing and spreading her. Exposing her to me. Vulnerable. Safe. I take her. Edge her to orgasm then pull back. Until she’s writhing with need then push her over the edge. Again and again, until she is limp and spent. Her body shuddering in aftershocks. We are sweating and the air smells of sweat and other things. I get a towl. Soft. I clean her and myself off. She is falling asleep. I snuggle down next to her and sleep.

I wake some time later. She is gone. I rush out in a robe and find her walking home. I say, “Stay. You can stay. Have breakfast with me. Have lunch. Stay.”

She says, “I have to go. I’m looking for my daughter. I think I met you at the wrong time. We could have been something.”

I say, “Find her, then come back to me. You are safe here. Always.”

She just looks away.

I say, “There is no right moment, no perfect time. There is only this moment. This time.”

Then I woke up.

Hot to the touch

And it seems, like all but a few in my past, seventy-five days was all you could stand. Perhaps, I am only attractive in small doses or as an idea rather than a man. Perhaps, I am the last to know that I was on the shelf. Fed scraps, until a better prospect cemented itself. Then discarded.
Perhaps, I was a toy, shiny and new but easily put aside. How can I know when the most popular method of leaving me is to say nothing, to not engage, to never answer direct or indirect. Apparently, I’m not worth a word. Not worth the time.
But fuck that. I am a fire. Perhaps we merely consumed all of the oxygen in the room. Leaving you Gasping, never quite achieving nuclear threshold.

Departure

Wander out past safety
Past warnings and posted notice
Eyes drink in the precipice
The wet heat of your breathe
Bends and sways the small hairs
Your hand slides up my arm
I turn, lift hands up under sweater
My too cold hands meet the fever warmth of your skin
I lean down rubbing my cheek against yours, nuzzling the crook where neck meets shoulder
We move, mouths finding each other
Hand in hand
This next step we take together