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jack_babalon"I love you" I tell her, but she's gone now, so I tell the window instead. The room is very slowly contracting around me, not so much that you'd notice right away, but you can definetly see it in the way the shadows stretch strangely on the canvas of the walls. I sit on the edge of my bed, running my fingers along the impression her head left in the pillow. The mattress & sheets are charged with her absence, electric lust - the air still burning with the smell of her want, a splash of vanilla body spray and sweat lingering. For this reason I resist lighting a cigarette, so I can close my eyes and sniff out the memory of her like a hunting hound closing in on a phantom prey.
She was crying when I came in her.
Her tears splash warm across my lips. She leans down and licks them off. I reach for her but the 1/2 inch of slack goes taut across the wrists. I remember I'm bound. I'm hers. Even now as she drives home to another man, i'm hers. I don't like terms like slave or sub, I don't think of it that way. I offer her the pain of my flesh and that pain redeems me. The pain I give her feeds something deep and buried in her, something old & hungry that moves under the surface of her thoughts.
I ask her why she's crying. I ask if it was something I did. Or didn't.
She shakes her head no and shifts off my lap, the smooth slip of wet disconnect, my hard on fading as I watch her cross the room, the shadows of the tree branches from outside my window form a tribal tattoo weave across her body. I listen to her sniffle and sob. I lay there. Spread eagle and open.
Helpless now in all the wrong ways. Finally after finding my smokes in the dark she tells me she can't see me anymore. That tonight will be the last time. "Why?" I ask, the fear growing in my belly now.
"He doesn't want me to" she says. I tell her I thought they had an open relationship, that he did his thing from time to time, and you did yours, and by 'yours' I meant me.
"We do and we don't."
I don't understand.
"I've been seeing too much of the same.. too much of you. He wants it to stop."
Fuck him I say. I've got a hundred pounds of fat, muscle and attitude on him. I got friends that can take his friends, I got a pistol under the mattress and I make enough money for you to move in. Fuck him. You don't need him.
Her answer grows slow in a patch of silence.
"Your right... except I love him."
The way she says it tells me she ain't lying. Neither to me nor herself.
A loaded quiet. No words left. No words that won't drive the knife deeper inside us. Deeper between us. She unties me. I kiss her. On the cheek. Like an old friend, nothing more. I walk her out to her car. Wave lame with the puppy dog eyes hanging on the reverse, shift and forward, the spray of headlights. Go back in. I pack myself one and put on a CD. Something soft and cold. I find a half glass of red wine sitting by the stand. Her fingerprints smudging the blue glass. The details of an hour ago have become the last shreds of evidence of a heat long past. Ghost clues left in the dark. No photographs. No messages on the machine. Just a thumb print and hint of a sip that fed a raw smile. Look back out the window but i'm not looking out. I'm looking at my reflection look back at me.
Sometimes I miss you and I miss being the man I was with you.
She was crying when I came in her.
Her tears splash warm across my lips. She leans down and licks them off. I reach for her but the 1/2 inch of slack goes taut across the wrists. I remember I'm bound. I'm hers. Even now as she drives home to another man, i'm hers. I don't like terms like slave or sub, I don't think of it that way. I offer her the pain of my flesh and that pain redeems me. The pain I give her feeds something deep and buried in her, something old & hungry that moves under the surface of her thoughts.
I ask her why she's crying. I ask if it was something I did. Or didn't.
She shakes her head no and shifts off my lap, the smooth slip of wet disconnect, my hard on fading as I watch her cross the room, the shadows of the tree branches from outside my window form a tribal tattoo weave across her body. I listen to her sniffle and sob. I lay there. Spread eagle and open.
Helpless now in all the wrong ways. Finally after finding my smokes in the dark she tells me she can't see me anymore. That tonight will be the last time. "Why?" I ask, the fear growing in my belly now.
"He doesn't want me to" she says. I tell her I thought they had an open relationship, that he did his thing from time to time, and you did yours, and by 'yours' I meant me.
"We do and we don't."
I don't understand.
"I've been seeing too much of the same.. too much of you. He wants it to stop."
Fuck him I say. I've got a hundred pounds of fat, muscle and attitude on him. I got friends that can take his friends, I got a pistol under the mattress and I make enough money for you to move in. Fuck him. You don't need him.
Her answer grows slow in a patch of silence.
"Your right... except I love him."
The way she says it tells me she ain't lying. Neither to me nor herself.
A loaded quiet. No words left. No words that won't drive the knife deeper inside us. Deeper between us. She unties me. I kiss her. On the cheek. Like an old friend, nothing more. I walk her out to her car. Wave lame with the puppy dog eyes hanging on the reverse, shift and forward, the spray of headlights. Go back in. I pack myself one and put on a CD. Something soft and cold. I find a half glass of red wine sitting by the stand. Her fingerprints smudging the blue glass. The details of an hour ago have become the last shreds of evidence of a heat long past. Ghost clues left in the dark. No photographs. No messages on the machine. Just a thumb print and hint of a sip that fed a raw smile. Look back out the window but i'm not looking out. I'm looking at my reflection look back at me.
Sometimes I miss you and I miss being the man I was with you.