Recovering Pursuer

It got by me, but I had meant to mark
That certain date on this year’s calendar.
The 2nd anniversary.
Of the time we last had intimacy.

Two years without intimacy.
(Speaking only for me.)

Pretty long time.
Pretty extreme devolution from
The Best Moments of My Life.

You’ll likely find my fidelity
Ironic.

At least I have the fog to roll in and envelope me now
With cool nights.

But if Donne’s mere flea
Can create a blood bond
How is it so easy to repel instead of
Accepting,
Grasping,
Fiercely seizing
Every opportunity for human passion?
A direct connection
A closeness like no other,
That obviates the need for that middle-creature, the flea,
And soothes, and cuddles, and blankets
Against the world’s
Harsh barbs?

I flattered myself to think that
Every single opportunity for intimacy
Would be irresistible.

Such thinking was belied
By sporadic indulgences
(Or capitulations?)
And an at least equal number of withholdings
(Or deprivations?)
Vexing in their unpredictability.
Punishing, really.

Some opaquely-driven self-denial?
Some female mid-life Manual I did not locate on the Internet?
Or something the Pope said?

I’m sure there’s reason to those seeming vagaries,
To the often unanswered open arms
That stood ready, begged, to encircle.
Even if it escapes me.
(And it does.)

Observing and musing,
Not really asking.

Those Best Moments
Appear now in the rear view mirror.
And that makes me feel old and foolish,
And fatigued from the pursuit.

A cessation of all pursuing
Brings us at least closer to equilibrium.

Without pursuit
There can’t be rejections, withholdings, deprivations
Or the lingering aftertaste
Of the question of whether
Capitulation implicates
Consent
(Imagine even wondering that.)

Or the chasm between any of that
And why it’s been so, so long since
Initiation?
Is there no deficit
Pressing to be filled?

No doubt
You see it differently.
That’s what makes you
Amazing
And exasperating
And (most of all) unattainable.

And relegates me
To diagnosing my own myopathy.
And looking down the barrel of
My Rocking Chair Years.

So.

Still, and always.
Still.
And.
Always.

But, only from afar.

Here as cheerleader,
Arranger of pie deliveries,
Rock solid got-your-backer
In all times of trouble and need.

And,
Recovering pursuer.