Damaged

I sit. Breathing deeply. The bed smelling of perfume and skin. My brow clammy from sweat now cooled.  You lay fingertips away, thigh exposed ...a pale blue cotton sheet snaking its way up Titians ghost. I marvel. A fall breeze catches the corner of a timid sheer curtain enticing it into full sail. A new boldness permeating the air. Behind an unlocked door we enshrined ourselves in flesh.   You gave everything with deep swollen kisses and we made no apologies to lost days. The carcass of a phone lay entrailed, jack torn from wall-the first victim of irrational thought. 

You had been so angry. So broken.  So betrayed. Screaming at me, tears splashed with fury. I stood unrepentant. Grabbing at me, fingers digging deep into resigned arms your words thrashed. My silence incensed you. With shaking hands you held me possessed but I was unafraid. Heated palms traced pleadingly across my face and as your labored breath repeated against my neck you whispered “why?”

You never gave me the chance to answer but gathered me in your arms and waived away all comprehension.   You sought to imprint yourself upon my skin, upon my soul, trying to pound a path to my heart. I could not, I would not refuse you entrance to all within my control. Love. This love you give. You sought to erase the past and replace it with forever. There was an allure to this. I wished it gone the heaviness of a broken heart. With your head against my chest I dared to forget. But there lies a dull ache within. A reminder that your claim here is not the first. 

Youth promised many years ago before my book of revelations a sacrifice. And upon that alter all my firsts I gave the Archangel Michael to weigh. I waited hoping the scales might tip in my favour but who was I to try and settle account with an angel.  He did not fight for me or war for my heart he just left with no remorse leaving me lanced with the tree of life and neither distance nor time could shrink my belly now growing with indecision. It was then faith sought me out for a hand unseen tripped me and at the base of a strangers staircase all grace was expelled from my womb and his judgement clearly made.

It would be an easy choice to kill that time. I have tried to drown...to bleed....to bury the shadow of my heart but his ghost roots itself beyond hope. I had resigned myself to live with trace paper memories to hold my sanity.

But for you.

You demand- you need- you want all of me. I am poor liar this you know, I have seen you search my eyes and seeing me acknowledge my truths.  I do not know why you mire yourself here. You remain steadfast , unwilling to share my marrow with the architect of my damage.   

Yet here you lay. Even in sleep you reach for me. You the definition of love gather this wreckage and cherish it.

But as I look at you tears delineate my vision and it is clear that he will remain an uninvited guest, my heart stolen years ago.

I crawl upon your length and you move from memory swelling with love, surrender abandons what’s left of me within you and I am left with one thought.......will it be enough.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

If I had to delve in the lines of this --- prose...its speaks much about the unrestricted passion that is uninhabited...its in the moment of the affair...the romance in whatever state...one questions after the deed...is it what I wanted to do...or was it just fleeting...and is this enough...to make us bond...and not fall astray...that all remains to be answered...as you leave that to the reader to question...

[writing mojo]

such power is exposed here..as I lay still, letting everything around
beget the wishes of saint..confessing of such trial and error internally
with only silence as a suitable mate..this takes my breath away..excellent piece

[R J Askew]

'Lanced with the tree of life' ... that is the line for me. Life is a devil the way it pulls us all over the place in its urgency to be. We just have to do what it demands. Yet we have this intense awareness that allows us to examine the circumstances of our slavery to it minutely, even the agonising bits. I suspect this is because we love all of it, even the agonising bits because they make us feel more of it ... life. I was instantly wafted into the mood of the moment with the first verse, much as the breeze wafted in. Perhaps the lovemaking generated an intense micro-climate in the room. Was really taken with the jack plug being ripped out and the unlocked door, both of which seemed to denote urgency and abandon. And then the state of the guy! Wow! What an extreme state of passion he was in. I wondered why? Was it good? Was it bad? He seemed lost, out of control in his passion. I'd hate that myself. I've never been like that. Though I think most women wld prefer a lover in the state of the lover you describe, driven mad by life's urgency, out of his mind. Is that the way life wants us to be? The love storm rumbles on with great intensity and -- when he is asleep -- you watch the storm making its way across the distance plains, still marvelling at it. Your poem makes me think that women are capable of spotting all kinds of tiny significances to a tryst that are quite beyond most men. I may be very wrong, but the damage feels like something of great importance, something to be examined and understood, a key part of life's experience perhaps, not entirely bad as it denotes that life was strong in the bruising. Not to be damaged by life might suggest a safe life led without risk or thrill.

[TL Boehm]

this is sensual, tragic and strangely "surreal" in spots. I can't quite articulate it but there is a depth to it that goes beyond simple humanity and our damaged emotions.
a glorious write.

[Coyote Poetry]

We live through so much in a relationship. I question why my poor wife stays with me. Description and feeling expressed strongly. A powerful poem. I believe the smart ones who hold on will have love forever. The green grass may look greener on the other side of the fence. Usually not.
Coyote

[Tony]

I feel here a confusion, words of anguish and doubt.... a pinch of guilt, and set in the coupling of souls perhaps not so entangled.
This is, in a word, Excellent.

Oh I love this the passion, intensity, love, desire a novel no wait a play. Two entangled for love and lust. The photo captures the passion.
Two thumbs up two pinkies and two fingers.

Lionman

[An owl on the moon]

What a profound expression of a relationship... the hoping... desiring... reflecting... You are a remarkable writer, gathering thoughts and threading them with memory and beauty and all that is a life of love and wondering... This is an absolutely amazing piece...

[Emily B]

oh, wow! that's all I can say

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

That was really something... damn I am almost rendered speechless.... when lust and love walk a fine line it is hard to tell if they will mesh or be like oil and water, this was fascinating as you really brought out the mixed emotions that erupt in this type of situation.