From you, I have learned this much: that the only way to love purely is across cracks, chasms, and astronomical distances that we can only love that which we can appropriate most freely. The ancients sing to us of Clytie. How she loved the Sun. How she waited for him constantly. How he crossed the sky each day to the lilt of her delighted laughter, to the sound of her adoring voice. How her devotion never faltered, though he left each night with no promise of returning the morning. And because he was always eight minutes longer himself, she could choose to believe that his luminous fingers stroked her face only, that it was she alone he wished into his sea home longing for her, madly aflame with thoughts of her. It was not divine pity, then, that scaled her fare, for even Selene, the cold-hearted knew how to pine. And so this happens.
When we learn to love purely: the body shrinks, grows, radiant, send down roots, turns ever lightward. We no longer wish to leave.
*****************
And so we go on...
I think of your words
and i wonder what you taste like
I can't see your face
yet i burn to have you inside me
filling the void that aches
from my never-ending need
feeling somewhat guilty
for picturing you without your permission
not quite sure if you would be
flattered or appalled
to be the object of my roving fingers fantasies
***
envisioning you touching me
as my fingers slide deep inside me
a poor substitute for you
but all i have at the moment
and i wish i could
see your face watching me
as i fall over the edge of oblivion
reaching for you
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