M,
I want to go to play-parties because because because. I want to experience, revel in, and witness the nuanced and the raw. I want to be wanted and to feel powerful in wanting others. I have freedom to be he who roams through conscious, sensuous and community.
But then there is the you and the I. Our society of two. We're an exclusive community just now. How to consider you as my lover when I'm off at play- maybe creating some boundary beyond, "Lovership=now" beyond, "...no hard feelings." NOT an invitation to exclusivity, nor what you want probably.
And yet I will open my mind to you wanting something from me besides puppies. I suspect, when you weep in my arms while I'm buried inside you, it is because I am withholding soul-nectar from you, and offering mere sugar-water. This doesn't fit the shape of your desire.
We want different things from play-, you and I, though they are not the knots that bind us anyway. We are joined at hearts I suppose, each a basket stuffed with flower petals and berries, boxed up inside and waiting for someone like -you, like -me to lift the lid. I feed from the bounty of your delectable tropes. I lap up your shining eyes and swallow. Feel thick trickles from your throat's Whitman, so different from anyone else's Whitman. Your perceptions are palpable: buttery glances, cherry-pursed lips, Sugar-crystal shouts of anguished surrender to your affection. You have pinned yourself beneath my glass, and then cry to me for help.
I'm licking your wings,
John
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