Lamps Plus Coupon
We are
obstinately alive and, to all outward appearance, things are back to normal
And you
say, “Since when were we ever ‘normal’?” and I laugh like an idiot,
I just
lose it completely because, even though you’re not that funny, you are.
The fact
that you’re still around to be so not-funny fills me with wonder
And a joy
that is devastating at the same time as it builds me up.
You
smile, and I grin like an idiot – so much, so often, my face hurts.
I think
people think I must be losing my mind again.
I think
maybe they’re right. Better to lose my mind than lose you…again.
You say,
“Not gonna happen,” with the confidence of the recently resurrected.
Who the
Hell am I to argue? Tell me and I take you at your word.
If you’ll
promise to be immortal and unchanging, spare me a year or two,
Or just
one more night spent in your company. I’ll take whatever you can offer.
One more
time let me be the recipient of your kisses and welcome you inside me.
As
strongly or gently as your body dictates, spread yourself over me. Press down,
push in.
Slide
against my skin and rake your nails, with soft sorrys spilling from your lips.
I offer
humble obeisance on rumpled sheets to have you echo my shape
So that I
can feel your warmth against every exposed surface of my body,
And your
heat within me that proves in the only way I can truly believe
That
sometimes – sometimes – the good guys
win.
He
sprawls - sweat-sticky and sex-drunk - tempting me to cover him with my body,
fuck him through the mattress again.
But not
yet. I just want to look at him…
The fan
blasting across us doesn’t stir a single hair on his head where it’s plastered
down, like he’s a sculpture. But not cold stone. Blond wood - ash or oak, solid
and strong. He’s perfectly still, breathing so shallow it’s hard to see the
rise and fall of ribs, his slatted back making me think of practical art like
vaulted ceilings and sailing ships with curved beams.
He is my
anchor.