Crucible Delight

It was dark when I first took off my translucent veil in front of you. The sand was warm, the din of the gongs and canned music drowning the drumbeats of my heart. I felt your warm fingers swarm the contours of my face, before its heat led down to the inner recesses of my being. Your fingers were soft and full of understanding. They caressed the hard-pressed callousness of its tight skin, made thick by years of silence and absence of emotion.

Just the other night, it was again dark when you blocked my way right down the stairs. I sensed the turmoil, crawling out from all of you; I thought of you, how it is to have you lying beside me, in the dark, both listening to our silence, feeling our pain from the air, from nothing, embracing them with our warmth, as we rekindle our memories and weave them together, those times when we were far from where we are at this point . . . Instead, I pressed my body into yours. I wanted to feel all of you . . . as if they would escape the fabrics of your clothes, break free from the entangled existence we are forced to live by. Your eyes were cast down. You were staring within and beyond my chest, yearning to fondle it, feel everything in it, yet doubting of its consequence. And in that moment, I felt you; you were inside me . . . the hard, pressing need to be one with me. There was current in the air that night; your shoulders and the soft skin, the childlike shape of your face, made me want to soothe you, flow by with your calmness, drink your joy, bathe in your innocence . . .

Eversince that moment, I pine for you to live by me, consume me, empty out this vacuum of deep, dark need. Fill me with your light, your banter, your bare immensity . . . Free me from my own evil.