A slant of light silhouettes being as what i want to be becomes what i am to be. Where my becoming refracts me into prisms of iridescence my being reposes in shadow, peripheral yet undeniable.
I love men ,i really do. I love them with all my being and envisage my becoming with them. His stubble, with its raspiness, his tumescence expelling sacrament , each and every pore of his integument ripples me with desire and longing.
In a certain hinterland i argue with those who doubt me, fearful of their mistrust but desirous of their approbation. Yet regardless of their approval my becoming is unaltered and is my being from which i become that which i always was.
I race through labyrinths to meet him. My blood pounds against my ribs, a white hot light splashes me in the orb off its incandescence. My head swims, my senses dance, my body quivers and the heart tintinnabulates with irrepressible fervour and passion.
In the penumbra of non being, at moments of self doubt, i become wistful. I commemorate our moments of being. Our moments of commingling. In desiring becoming i relinquished my inviolable being. Being craves now for a recomposing of the self wherein negation becomes affirmation through a leap of faith. But you are gone.
As i reassemble all these arabesques conjoin and cleave. Each fragment of me, both singular yet interleaved become a kaleidoscope of varying tints wherein each turn shifts the aegis yet all is soldered luminously. It is then that i meet him and we kiss. And a new being becomes.