Swan Song in Three Movements

Illuminated to the lights of an arcade anthem. The chaotic symphony of people congregating along with the sounds of spring action releases. Tandem games playing in unison, and people both celebrating and cursing their luck or perceived lack thereof. It was an atmosphere that allowed an introvert to hide in their movements and covertly watch the patrons as they filter through the arcade, hoping I would see you again. Black attire and smile shy, you hid your eyes ‘neath long lashes. You had already drawn me in before approaching. And then you were gone. Through detachment I found acceptance, rituals of self-care pacing my day. Then I found you again, and we had our first meeting. It was hard to hear, your speech like soft dew. I found myself leaning in to catch your words. Like the first meal after a prolonged fasting. I found it exhausting trying to cultivate the right words and not stray into personal territories. These are the tribulations of opening up. And being more acutely felt after a prolonged period of hermitage, was to be expected. Though I continued to have moments of wishing to seek shelter in myself instead of relating, I pulled through with breath and tenacity. I ate foods that are terrible for me and stepped in dog shit, but I didn’t care. Your hair smelled lovely when you hugged me, and I was already curious.

Our middle was our best, for we both opened in that moment, seeking presence in our mutual vulnerability. You asked before you touched, the power of consent was granted and the realm of physical affirmation was opened. I felt like a parched desert walker, there could never be enough. It was powerful opening up to these longings, holding space for them, for each other. You asked me if I would accept you and I answered sincerely. Your kiss harkens the world to fall away, and I am not afraid of what remains. The faint sounds that elicit from your throat unravel something inside me, and I pull you closer to feel your pulse rush against mine. The flutter of black lash on porcelain cheek as you press your lips to mine, soft as a whisper and calling my name. It activates that secret place in me. Soft tresses of shadow and silk leave wafts of vanilla and sandalwood floating through the nares of my mind. Dark pools with embers of desire, invite me to taste again. An awakening call to my primal self, as they uncoil and slither beneath the surface. Soliciting more of those sounds becomes my goal, as I seek to hear your full song. To lay witness to the movement of pleasure through your body. Heated visions of exploring our boundaries parade through my mind. The soft kisses you leave on my palm, unknit those wound places in me and generate expansion. Seeking to moderate the middle and find the balance, we carefully orbit our growing storm, choosing to savor. As I hear of your hopes and journey, I long to be a vision carrier, even as I observe you walk away.

As I seek to hold you fully, I also long to be fully held. Lips like rose petals, I crave more. Cloaked in obscurity, your undertow sings of ambivalent tides that tell of transitional stasis and a need for communion with the source. Arms around you, I feel the warring—inner paradoxical workings of desire to feel closer and yet push away. You express that you cannot fully accept me at this place in my journey, which is your choice to make though it hurt to hear. Initially, I am compelled to push at those dissonant barriers, to find your key, to seek your full acceptance. To pursue your retreat and attempt to live by your expectations. Seeking your conditional validation. Except, I have journeyed down this road before. I know those muddy worn ruts well, and the going is lonely though you walk aside someone, for it feels one-sided. My younger self enjoyed a good mud wrestle, but my older self prefers a bed. And so, the wiser side wins as I choose to walk away from retracted acceptance, though I am grateful for our time shared. Your caresses still dance along my memories when I hold myself at night. An opportunity was given, to choose myself and counter the cycle of dutiful immolation. One day I will find someone who can fully accept me in my journey, who holds space for their inner pilgrimage, and who wields love that is liberating.