Tuesday, July 1, 2014


I trace the striations of his stubble in my fingers. My hands traverse his tall frame, grazing his chest and stomach. At the point at which my fingers touch his tumescence, the vision stops, the dream halts and reality breaks in.

He hugged me at an event. I remember the perfume and underneath it the musky, manly smell of him. The hug was too brief, the encircling of his arms around me too evanescent to constitute even a small intimacy. But that infinitesimal moment, made special to me by the fact of its having occurred, occupies my nocturnal dimensions.

Well he let me down. He promised to help me, render me a favor which i, in my ingenuousness or willful negation of the truth, immediately believed only to find that i was disappointed, my faith crushed.

His chest hair ripples when drops of water slough of it. Each drop, luminous, cleaved to the fur, cascades downwards leisurely, nonchalantly and i long to feel that drop of water wetting my lips, whetting my mouth.

At nights i practice onanism. I work away at my engorgement, accelerating with each advancement and retraction the motion that leaves me breathless, expended of passion with wet blobs as remnants of the emotional landscape i traversed.

When he wanted me he sought me out. He asked of me what i gave him yet when he, as i alluded, let me down through his lack of reciprocity, a side of human selfishness was revealed to me that still disturbs me immeasurably.

I tauten in response to him while responding to him. We shake hands formally, politely. Is the passion that simmers in me discernible to him? Or is my dissembling consummate enough to waylay him.

I furtively extract information on his relationship status. I seek factualities shamelessly from those around him.

I, quite precipitately though not unpremeditatedly bitch about him, impugn him. Yet the more his worth is lessened in my eyes the more conspicuous his desirability becomes.

I long for a soldering, a conjunction. And i know, though without conscious awareness of how i came by this knowledge, that i am in love yet not in love. The downsides are palpable, the positives corporeal.But my blood still beats fast, my lips still part with unconsummated desire.

In any case i have made up my mind. And making up one's mind is, ironically, a belated realization that the mind was already made up.

I see him on a platform, speechifying. His eyes graze mine, then look away to others in the multitudinous throng.

He descends. Passes by me. Sees me. Hugs me. And we kiss.

And i, inveterately, unavoidably, inescapably, incontrovertibly, wake up.

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