Apr 7
I feel that a vital part of myself
Is shriveling up and dying
As each day goes by and no lover brushes their lips to the back of my hand
Is this the last remnants of my ***/love addiction?
I haven’t experienced that wild reckless craving for another body to slam into mine in ages and ages
And I don’t experience it now
But rather a loneliness that scuffs at the dusty taupe floors of the echoing rooms where intimacy used to dance, supple and pliant
Now my intimacy palace sits empty
It’s been so long since the twinkle in someone else’s eye matched the twinkle in mine and I got to be bold as I chose to fall in for a moment with them
Since I met someone who touched that deep part of me
Or maybe that deep part of me has been sleeping for a very long time
The part that isn’t afraid to love, that remembers what a high privilege it is to connect body and soul with another
Maybe it’s waking up and as it does a maddening hunger for touch yawns wide in my center
Maybe I overused that privilege and abused my ability to connect and condensed millennia of intimacy into a few hours a week
And so it hid away from my carelessness
It sunk into the walls
Slithered under the floor boards
And waited until it was sure I wouldn’t over use, abuse and be careless with it
And now I think it’s starting to get sure of me
Trust now fills the air in these vacant halls and the disembodied bits of my intimacy start to come together
Creating a bit of a pit just there at my diaphragm
A pit that longs for lovers past
That laments my empty bed
But that also praises the new halls I’ve crafted for it
All this because I desperately want to text my ex
Or worse
Write her a letter
With a poem that praises her body and soul
That I wrote after she broke my heart
I want to mail it to her for birthday with a note that says “I wish we lived closer and things were different and you could be my wife”
I’d send it to break her heart a little because mine is still broken
I don’t think hers is
From when we last spoke I know her heart is still high up on the shelf, hidden behind her guards
And I know nothing of what her intimacy palace looks like
But I wish I wish I wish
I wish I could meet someone like her
And that’s the rub isn’t it?
She’s still my high standard and she smashed my heart up
And now that beast of longing awakens and craves her so badly
The loss of her feels deafening even a year and a half later
How would I survive someone new? Who I loved with that kind of admiration, tenderness and force?
If it were to end? I’d have to place another gravestone there in my chest beside hers. I suppose I should just let her go, dig up the grave and send her into space. But then what will the beast of longing gnaw on if not her memory?
I’m afraid it will gnaw on me
Oh the melodrama
Is shriveling up and dying
As each day goes by and no lover brushes their lips to the back of my hand
Is this the last remnants of my ***/love addiction?
I haven’t experienced that wild reckless craving for another body to slam into mine in ages and ages
And I don’t experience it now
But rather a loneliness that scuffs at the dusty taupe floors of the echoing rooms where intimacy used to dance, supple and pliant
Now my intimacy palace sits empty
It’s been so long since the twinkle in someone else’s eye matched the twinkle in mine and I got to be bold as I chose to fall in for a moment with them
Since I met someone who touched that deep part of me
Or maybe that deep part of me has been sleeping for a very long time
The part that isn’t afraid to love, that remembers what a high privilege it is to connect body and soul with another
Maybe it’s waking up and as it does a maddening hunger for touch yawns wide in my center
Maybe I overused that privilege and abused my ability to connect and condensed millennia of intimacy into a few hours a week
And so it hid away from my carelessness
It sunk into the walls
Slithered under the floor boards
And waited until it was sure I wouldn’t over use, abuse and be careless with it
And now I think it’s starting to get sure of me
Trust now fills the air in these vacant halls and the disembodied bits of my intimacy start to come together
Creating a bit of a pit just there at my diaphragm
A pit that longs for lovers past
That laments my empty bed
But that also praises the new halls I’ve crafted for it
All this because I desperately want to text my ex
Or worse
Write her a letter
With a poem that praises her body and soul
That I wrote after she broke my heart
I want to mail it to her for birthday with a note that says “I wish we lived closer and things were different and you could be my wife”
I’d send it to break her heart a little because mine is still broken
I don’t think hers is
From when we last spoke I know her heart is still high up on the shelf, hidden behind her guards
And I know nothing of what her intimacy palace looks like
But I wish I wish I wish
I wish I could meet someone like her
And that’s the rub isn’t it?
She’s still my high standard and she smashed my heart up
And now that beast of longing awakens and craves her so badly
The loss of her feels deafening even a year and a half later
How would I survive someone new? Who I loved with that kind of admiration, tenderness and force?
If it were to end? I’d have to place another gravestone there in my chest beside hers. I suppose I should just let her go, dig up the grave and send her into space. But then what will the beast of longing gnaw on if not her memory?
I’m afraid it will gnaw on me
Oh the melodrama
