February 16th, 2010 by Hoopleton

Where is the light? It’s late and you haven’t come to bed and you haven’t kissed me or for that matter ever really kissed me. So where is the light but between the spaces that we inhabit. Perpetually. Eternally. Forever. And I know. I know. I know. I know what you’re going to say. That you imagine me at fifty. Lines round my face. Strands of grey lost in the tussle of my hair. Fingers bleeding ink. But the very real fact of it is that I was in love with you before I was in love with you and then at fifty I’ll still be in love with you. Wrinkled and much closer to the end than I was ever to the beginning. Still searching for the words to describe you. Still lost staring at you. Still completely obsessed with you. And again still you never having really kissed me because all of our even most sensual moments couldn’t come close to the kind of closeness that I desire from you. To be near you, with you, in you is not enough. I need to be you. I am the pure voice. My throat bare to the sun. As I bite into the curve of your neck, your flesh melting against my tongue, my hands grasping for your thighs, and hips and waist, I feel the light just out of reach. And your scent fills me. God, even when I’m alone your scent fills me. My hands tremble uncontrollably and I feel again everything I felt that night by candlelight when everything fell apart. Even then at fifty I’m consumed by you. Destroyed by you. Alive with you. And every moment from now till then races through my head. Your son. Our son. The daughter we’ll have. The homes we’ll build. The stories we’ll write. The food we’ll toss in the trash while we laugh off wine and packs of cigarettes. I’ll show you the world and make love to you, have sex with you, fuck you in every room. In every room. I’ll live only for you. I’ll live forever if you ask me to. And when you want the light, the moon, the sun, the incandescent glow of streetlamps, I’ll construct furnaces, bonfires, pyres. I’ll build stars for you. Never again will you know black. But you’re right, it’s late and I should come to bed.