Something to Play With

As I drag the eyeliner pen along my lash line, my mind drifts to memories of our most recent encounter. It was one I couldn’t quite read and this causes me to run through the motions over and over in my brain trying to understand where I may have gone wrong. We walked for a long time and talked about nearly everything as the autumn leaves fell gently from the tall trees around us, drifting slowly to the damply weathered forest floor. While I was telling you about something which was bothering me, you almost reached for my hand but then seemed to think better of it, stuffing yours instead into the pockets of your lovely wool coat. I noticed the way the sunlight glittered upon your warm wavy hair and seemed to make it glow.

Writing is more important to me than anything else in the world, even sex, even chocolate, even money, even love. (It is possibly tied with coffee, please don’t make me choose.) I do not reveal this to anyone because they would think it nuts because it is, but I know it to be true because I have tried to ignore the writing but never can no matter what. Maybe you sensed this or in some way felt the cool limits of my desire for you. For anything else other than what is most sacred to me which is the word. People are fine but they are not to be trusted. I don’t blame them, of course. Half the time I don’t even trust myself.

The eyeliner is perfect even though my eyes don’t match. I used to get hung up on this fact of my natural asymmetry but honestly now I’m over it. As long as I can see what else is there to really be so concerned about. No matter how many times I replay our conversation I can’t get to the end without feeling as though I am left hanging on the open air between us.

Giving up on solving any further riddles for the day, I pour a glass of wine and set my mental obsessions aside. If nothing else, I know they’ll wait for me to return. They are like a faithful dog. They always do. I open my laptop and browse sexy leather harnesses on my favorite naughty webstore. I like the one with handcuffs attached to the straps at the hips but worry about my own clumsiness in execution. Maybe I just like the way the model’s gorgeous ass looks in her crisscrossed chain-linked lingerie. Life can get heavy and relationships maddening. Sometimes you just wanna play.

28 Replies to “Something to Play With”

  1. Pausing, playing, pleading for more–it is all quite delicious, and most deliciously expressed by the writer, by the poet, you. The words never fully abandon you. How could they? Through you, their purpose is realized. Your words are not just symbolic scratches that convey meaning; they live under your care. Sometimes I am not even sure whether you construct the world around you that you share with us with your words … or if the words construct you. I cannot imagine you without them. Nor would I wish to. God no!

    Liked by 1 person

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