Part I: Sweetheart
He’s unlike any other lover
that I’ve ever had.
There have, in the past
been talented enthusiasts,
skilled contortionists,
beloved boyfriends
and romantic one night stands…
but after nearly seven years
he knows me;
knows more about what happens INSIDE ME
than anyone who ever previously came that way.
With the others, skilled as they were,
there was always something more;
something secret transpiring behind my
ORGASM
CLOSED
EYESBut by now he knows everything he needs to know,
which he uses to his advantage,
bringing me to my oft contemplated conclusion;
he looks at me with his insider’s knowledge
and he sees inside what others could not.
The path to my bliss
is a code which he has broken;
a cypher that my body,
my outward appearance
could never hope to betray,
for all the contradictions therein.
He feeds my desperation
with erotic confections,
candied pornography,
titillatingly told and suggestively supplied.
He says all the right things,
evocative, provocative things,
pressing all the right buttons,
pulling all the right strings,
whispering nearly impossible encryption,
like an incantation (if not a description);
such nectarous wines which some find grotesque
as my redolent rhymes at last come undressed.
And there, in the harsh light of spray,
as frenzied fantasy is glazed with stud honey,
he looks deep into my opened eyes
and tells me how much he loves me.
Part II: Sweet Dreams
I sleep like the dead.
A door slams
and I am awakened;
a scenario which has always made me sad.
Returning to consciousness ALONE is shocking.
Previous waking memory
involves being nakedly wrapped
in another man’s embrace…
he was just here.
My deathly slumber has robbed me
of too many farewells.
How do men disentangle
themselves from me so easily?
Perhaps when lulled
into a false sense of security,
I fail to cling effectively?
The most satisfying
sexual encounters
of my life
seem predicated on utter destruction
come the merciless
light of day.
Perhaps
that early sweetness
before such raw transformative
encounters have bruised us
is life’s deceptive way of
getting us all to take our medicine.
Part III: A Bitter Pill to Swallow
He says he’s been crying all morning;
that we’ve not planned this day well.
He wishes we were together.
We are frustrated that my thoughtfulness
was unknowingly seemingly thoughtless.
Should have asked for headphones.
Should have called when doorslam woke me.
Should have moved this appointment
but the confusing calendar info
has only recently been translated
and my therapist has no other window
so I take the car he scheduled for me
to the appointment he scheduled for me
and I hope for the best,
swallowing any bitterness
by remembering last night’s sugar.
Written by Jason Wright
August 28, 2018
For Aaron
