come here (a story)

with desire request became demand,
“come here”

there comes a point where there is no further point in game playing
nor doubt.

“come here”
it is obeyed

perhaps i am obeyed?

daily i fall in love with my own self. this fact both is and is not the instigating factor for what comes next. crazy love this. it can also be secondary, arguably irrelevant, to the becoming experience of objectification. i am now another’s subject. the valley into which to fall. beloved. the passion of the game.

but towards the mutual fall and the un-sensible idea of two together?

how many hair width’s away?
a breath?
they were now almost skin to that first touch——cara.

a whisper, “i finally am ready to open my brain’s heart into yours”

“it is the intelligence’s seduction that bonds the deal,”

“you know i’ve made love to you before, though you didn’t know”

“are you sure i didn’t know?
perhaps i’ve done the same to you”

“regularly"

a smile expands, extends. reaches.

a belief resurfaces.
my “lower” self’s organs are fighting my “upper” self’s emotional high. preference of a cup half drained than one flowing and filled with promises, toxic in their fleetingness.

the conflict may not even be necessary.
but both lovers suffer from full spectrum intelligence. endlessly flexible. it has always been of our own choosing.
could a war with two winners end with no losers?
both had lived and died sufficiently to doubt it.

a keyboard on which hands play.

the crisp clicks, hard stepping. rhythmic. repeat.

words on the screen.
my eyes burn jealous with admiration, the beauty being created. i resent the end of this war, my safety. the effect of this cease-fire the end of all i know? as my tool of confession is conquered, de-sanctified, i panic. what would stop those hands from surmounting me, ripping my soul apart from her only outlet and refuge?

each tap pulls me four times back, five times forward.
a dance.
i worship the sweat gracing your pores, inhale your odor—high, scattering away imprisonment, self-control.
lightly I realize I’ve dropped the need of knowing who comes next.


NO
it had become intolerable. how…. dare… presumptuousness… i will not allow this condescension any longer.

the thought loud and louder
registers

audible now:
“i am truly sorry.
to have in any way violated your sacred spaces”
,
the clicks, shoes soft-stepping, retreat.
,
,
,
,
fear combined with confrontation, decades of hoarded collective inaction

one further flash
violently persuasive, mongering
then rejected
…………………………………………..

is it possible to know at what point our words syntaxed then dissapeared?

no longer are there isolating covers separating desire with propaganda
no sanctuary, no partial freedom.

the merger goes off

it only takes one moment

for now
this is sufficient.