There it is in black and white, this feeling that drives me to sexual intercourse. It’s old tingles that used to come in color when I was barely a teen. But the passage into adulthood has clouded the rainbow till now I come alone in storms, my eyes searching with a half-smile for the sunlight behind the clouds.
But you have remained my partner all the way, trying to shelter me from the rain—your pounding heart always like thunder, your fluttering fingers stroking me like a clenched fist. I see in your eyes wondering, wishing, wanting for a moment like our first time. But the fruit can seed only once before it dies.
Still, we try new things to sow new gardens—we struggle to feel alive. Together, we whisper hope to each other and grasp at whatever hunger and edge we feel. Sometimes we hope too much; our lovemaking derails like a speeding train on a mountainside, crashing us against bitter rocks, hurling us bleeding far apart, our good times forgotten amidst hostile after-thoughts.
“I don’t need you. I don’t love you anymore.” I savor the taste of those words in my mouth, my head high. Then I hide within the shadows of our lifelong walls as I limp away, fractured and poured out almost empty.
Letting go is so hard when all I want is to rewind to a hot breath hungry hands wet lips sensation—a place of indurating platonic coitus.
I wake without you beside me. I catch your scent in my hair and lose my breath. I close my eyes and you get caught in my mind and always find your way to where I lust most. If only these were your hands and not mine. If only I could have your mouth and fingers and tongue there—you know where—and…
No … yes. Why can’t I stop wanting you?
My cheeks flush every time I remember that which I don’t want to forget.
And there it is in black and white: bedroom curtains flapping from a desert wind blowing doubt. All my life I will submit … harder. I have no respect … faster. No shame. Just hot wet rhythmic panting screaming choking—more more more.
But your eyes are growing dark this time, your voice fading, your fingers slipping. And I am holding on harder than I’m trying to let go.
Who am I, this girl so dirty and smug and breathless again, wanting back with you, but singing solo and dancing by myself?
“Rarely are we forgotten,” you say, “unless we’re dancing by ourselves.”
Driven by our ups and downs and the burn I have for you, I give in and call you. You come quickly. I let you in. You take me back. I beg you and you give yourself. I feel that familiar buzzing, black and white. And in the gray, you know exactly how to touch me, kiss me, hold me. A sudden tingle drives the life-breeze I sail into with a thousand syllables on my tongue and tasting sweeter than ever before. And on the horizon is a rainbow in all its glorious color.