Well, goodbye Mrs S:
You furnished me with so many fantasies: with your curves and beauty and brain -
You touched me under the table, you rubbed against me, you eyeballed me, you locked me into your gaze, your unbelievably erotic description of differentiation.
Goodbye Mrs S.
You didn't even know any of this: you had no idea what your body was doing, and had you known, you would have disowned it. You felt nothing, knew nothing, and you built your own body inside mine.
Goodbye Mrs S.
You rub, smooth, stroke, flay. You burn your eyes into imagination and you just go on and on, with your balloon-bursting sexuality, as powerful as nuclear, as silent as space: on you go, by me, through me, past me - and you know it, but will say and think nothing.
You really did have all the answers, for a while.
If life is subtraction, you are the difference.
And the difference is?
A middle aged woman walks past a youngish man, her beauty causes him to stop, for a moment, because he thinks he remembers something: but the feeling is gone and the dance is over.
Goodbye Mrs S.
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2 comments:
Mrs S...she was just a pointless but powerful sexual obsession. A luscious, bountiful, curvy middle aged woman - exactly my thing. But she didn't notice me at all! Or rather her body did, but not her brain. Odd situation really. We spoke in body only.
Nothing to do with the previous post. That was love. Much more important and much more painful. And no I didn't cheat on the lover, with mrs S or anyone else. Different places and times.
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