You were my lover until the night that you weren’t.
You called me Janet… in the green shaded sunlight streams (like a stained glass painting) where we ran naked beneath that haunted woodland canopy.
I, daring to travel to forbidden places which our fathers forbade… to pluck the rose whose thorns did prick, beading blood from innocent skin.
On that final night you called me Lynn… (my misspelled middle name) when I appeared naked before you on the edge of twilight forest storm clouds; there, where I was deflowered by a fairy queen’s decree.
It was there, in the shadow of such bewildering and bruising beauty that you abandoned me, never to return.
As I had been counseled, I held tight to myself when you would have let me go…
And being unsaved, I saved myself, even as you faltered and fled.
True, I haunted that place on the following, on the morrow, as I brushed past tree limbs still wet with last night’s cleansing rain.
I walked to the spot where we’d smoked; the remains of last night’s victims, the evidence which proved that last night’s disaster had indeed taken place… a world shattering event which we have never discussed.
That woodland fairyland is a cursed place which returns to haunt my dreams.
That night I had been transformed into many creatures, into many forms, burned away to nothing and reborn from the ashes.
Janet and Lynn united in a pairing you could not possibly conceive of.
And thus combined, and bereft of your touch, I stumbled into the morning to learn what we’d become.
You tell him that sex with me will be completely emotionless for you, or at least that’s what I hear without really listening, but what you truly said is that our sexual activity will be completely emotionless for US, but that’s not wholly accurate… because I will feel something; if I didn’t already feel something I wouldn’t even bother.
You say that people don’t usually FUCK their ex-boyfriends, which I find funny because so far, they’re the only people I fuck, and why not?
I’ve loved you for almost as long as I’ve known you and can’t / won’t force myself to feel nothing.
But there’s NOTHING threatening to others by this potential reconnecting of interlocking bodies, because while sex will ALWAYS be emotional for me, I also hold no illusions that my having sex with you will bind you to me, making you a prisoner to only satisfy my needs, to only service my pleasure…
Our FUCKING will not reintegrate us into some magical reiteration of our former couplehood.
The idea is preposterous.
As preposterous as truth and as honest as fiction.
Confusing DILF picture adds layer of lust to bruising filth mixture; betrayer of trust who back in the past when present was future, through lack of the ask cast gent as abuser.
*
Doctored exuberance from strangest of men.
I was awkward pubescence and patience by then.
My doctor was present which deftly he used.
Doctor was pleasant which left me confused.
More than one patient; Jason inside me.
More than one statement was latent inside me.
And doctor was plural; what’s quizzically true is that doctor was neural but physical too.
More than one practice. More than one patient. More than one mattress. More than one Jason.
Deranged dereliction of duty imbued with strange contradictions that strangely are true.
Innocent action or wholly obscene?
Fact that this fraction unholy was clean.
With no penetration in sterile space.
And no abdication of crime or disgrace.
With no policed questions the proctors undress me.
Priests at confessions; the doctors molest me.
Doctors are judged through initial neurology.
The awkward begrudged judicial apology.
*
And DILF in the picture looks back from the past and I am not injured but was I the last?
