Fear Of The Dawn
[we’re like crystal, we break easy] New Order
I thought it was a dream for a moment…some wonderful but fucked-up fantasy that only my wicked brain could conjure up during the after-hours….
A sharp tang of day-old sweat hits my nose.
A bruise aches on my arm, a purple-blue tattoo in the shape of your fingers.
A fan cuts through stale summer air and tries to create a delicious breeze.
And your slick-like body next to mine, sticking to me with several fluids.
I try to repeat the words in my head, to make my mind listen to my eyes…to make my body listen to my heart…to make sense of this position I have found myself in.
The clock reads two in the morning.
The curtains are drawn tightly, keeping out the busy neon lights down below.
I look back at you.
Your face looks like death, all pale and formless….
[a face I touched and caressed]
Your lips are a tight line of faded red…
[lips I kissed like a man starving]
The hair stands out against cotton sheets like a beacon, calling your ship home again….
[calling me to you, begging me to touch you and to undress you]
A body with a mass of contradictions, one inch flows like silk and one inch hard like steel…
[a body I buried myself in, wrapped myself around and a body I burned within]
The clock reads ten past two.
I press closer to you and hold my breath. You don’t move. You don’t speak.
I feel desire curl around me, pushing me up and out and quick…pushing me forward like a tidal-wave.
It is wonderful and shameful to be doing this, to be rubbing against your flat stomach and the edge of your chest, to be rotating my hips faster and faster…your leather-soft skin bringing me closer to release.
I thought it was a dream for a moment,
But it is not.
Dreams can continue every night but reality cannot.
The clock reads three in the morning…too close to morning, too close to you leaving and never coming back and never touching me again and never wanting me again.
My fingers spread milky-white heat upon your abdomen, watching it merge with the ivory of your skin.
A mark on you till you shower, till you wash me away.
I find myself willing time to go backwards, to give me the night back, to give me this chance again.
I find myself fearing the dawns steady approach.
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