I’ve been here too many times to count.
What’s your real name? What’s your real face?
I sat there in the bathroom with the shower running, drinking a Decadent Dark Chocolate Ale and watching the mirror fog up in steamy effigy. It’s still streaked with lipstick from when you wrote ‘I miss you’ in Lime Crime Riot. That shit was expensive, but it never did wear off. Totally worth the $20, not like those Louboutins that broke your fifth time wearing them. Your tattoo of a bruise never seemed to be in the same place. Our sex never seemed to be in the same frame of mind. You would want it fast and dirty, all the time. While I was driving, or on a park bench at midnight, overlooking the city.
I kissed your thighs, both of them, before moving up further to your soaking wet desire. If I had some Lime Crime, I would have kissed “I miss you too” just below your clitoris. It was certainly steamy enough then. I used my tongue to your satisfaction – almost. I left something out so you would put your hand on my head. Something about you taking control fascinated and freed me, arousing my interest even more, until you insisted I replace my tongue with my hardness. Our passion transcended desire and passed into subservience to one another. There was turbulence, you were shaking so hard. I couldn’t get enough of you.
What were you doing here in my bed? The last place I would expect you to be. The box you had made me think outside of so often it became second nature was now a container you were perfectly content to climb in. You slept all night gripping my body tightly to yours, twitching in your dreams, your demons haunting you even there. Except Cupid’s arrow, fired from point blank range, cannot penetrate the heart.
This was all beautiful – except this beauty was the sort one may view from any distance.
What happened? Where did you go? Why are you back now?
It’s different. I know you’ve changed. But you changed me, and I can’t change back now. The things I did to survive you, to be with you, they were like surgery on my mind, procedures on my psyche. I’m afraid they’re permanent. I made love to you then, right then. That was all I could do, thanks to you. Live in the moment, forget the future and the past. This is who we are now, you used to say. And I sat at your feet, absorbing your wisdom. You can’t just renounce it now. You convinced me. I became what you once wanted. I don’t know what you want now, but you utterly removed my ability to give it to you. This Riot on my ass isn’t coming off.