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nature of desire, that I
have learned it from you, and that I question whether desire is truly what I
feel. I have taken the time to read on the nature of desire and have learned
the physiology of it the rush of chemicals through the brain, tunneling
pathways and new connections. But among this physiology, the psychology, the
warning that desire does not stay, that novelty wanes and desire wanders,
looking for someone new to attach to, or simply wanders off leaving behind
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something else that may be as satisfying in its way, but is not desire.
If this is true then I am not now feeling desire. What I feel for you has not
wandered or waned or lessened, but has grown since the first time you pressed
your mouth to mine and served your notice that you had desires of your own. I
look at you now even as you are between me, and would push you farther into me
until there is no space between us, no gap between where I stop and you begin,
but a
continuum and a binding, covalent and irrevocable. If it is not desire I do
not know what to call it, save to call it love, which I already feel in
different ways than this.
I am without a word to describe what I feel, if it is not desire and is not
love. So I will express it how I
can, not in words but in action, with lips and hands and bodies and merging,
with sex and fucking and release.
I have never been inside someone as deeply as I am inside you. I love to feel
you inside me, the physical complement to my spiritual state, expression made
flesh of what I would say to you if I had the words. I
press you into me, and draw into a kiss the lips that earlier had been
speaking. I take the hands that had earlier moved in the air and bid you move
them on me. Later you will tell me again what you had earlier said, and I will
listen then, I promise.
But for now all I can say is that I apologize for wanting you, and in wanting
you having you. And I
apologize in advance for all the times I will want you between now and the end
of our lives. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me I will make it
worth your while, and will forgive you for all the times you will want me, and
will accept your apologies, as you accept mine now.
7
Fear
Fear enters the room and sits down in a chair and with a polite smile asks to
open negotiations. Fear is small and hard and patient, and duplicitous,
because in asking to negotiate it knows I cannot refuse. I am obliged to
accommodate Fear because I am human, and no human is without fear. Fear sits
and smiles and is predatory, immobile and silent and serene; an observer who
conserves his energy and is content to wait. We watch each other and take our
measures, he to undo me and me to avoid being undone. We both sit and measure
and stare. And then because I long for other company, I ask him to show me
what I
should fear.
To begin he offers me the fear of death, and I laugh. I laugh because I know
Death far too well to fear her. Death is my intimate and my companion; I am
her messenger and handmaiden. We have walked too many worlds and have become
too familiar; close acquaintances if not friends, because you can never
befriend Death without embracing her, and for now I keep her at a safe and
prudent distance. Even so I
know her methods and her means and her agenda. I know her legendary
capriciousness is overstated but that her inevitability is not. Death comes to
us all, even those who have served her so well.
It is foolish to fear the inevitable. I know I will die. Fearing Death will
not make her come for me later and might send me to her sooner, when a blind
rush from her sends me into her arms. I will not fear her and I will not fear
going to her when it is time to do so. I tell Fear to show me something else.
He shows me Pain, myriad as Death is singular, creative in his
attention-seeking, and in his desire to overwhelm every scrap of
consciousness. The most perfect of egotists.
I am not impressed. Pain is a tool: a diagnostic instrument in one s self, a
lever in others, and in all things symbolic of something else that better
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deserves our attention. Pain may represent Death, who I refuse to fear. Pain
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