The Other L Word

Didn’t you, then, not even a little; but I know you did, how was it possible that you could do that to me otherwise, could insert yourself into me, with your eyes wide close-gazing into mine, to see how far my pupils dilated of course, but wasn’t there something else, as you pushed the needle in below the precisely right layers of skin, the upper curve of my breast, my epidermis letting you in, as you penetrated me with the sterile steel tip the way I imagine my virginity was taken the first time, if I cared to remember that far back, if I had cared about that; but this time, I did, I cared so much and your doing it so carefully, with such caring in your hands, your confident hands, made me believe you cared, so didn’t you, then, care I mean; I mean, how could you have made me fly like that without it meaning something, something more than the moment’s intimacy, something that had to do with permanence and sweetness and the word we’d been devoted to avoiding saying for months, since the very beginning, since the day we met and I drank what you gave me and spilled it on the floor from nervous arousal and let you wipe it up and believed you would take care of whatever messes you caused in me, so I let you take me, take me home, take me places I had never gone before, inside myself and into the next dimension, because I trusted how you touched me, how you kissed me, how you fucked me with your whole hand inside me, how you hurt me with such precision, how you played my jugular like a flute, how I let you do everything, everything but that, everything but love me; but you did, after all, didn’t you, at least a little?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s