Hundred Kisses, Candlelight

She had a most reasonable excuse

to come over and see me, that one evening

So oblivious I was back then, of her feelings for me

She stayed so long, until so tired I told her its time.

She looked like she was waiting for an opportunity,

the right moment-

*

And she got up, came closer for a goodbye hug, and

I felt her kisses on my neck, inching toward my lips.

She actually went for it. We kissed, holding each others,

next to the bed, illuminated only by a flickering candle,

its lone flame mimicking our fused silhouette-

*

Yet her closeness and love met with a concrete wall

The fact is, I didn't love her, I loved the attention she gave me.

Shocked I sort of went along with the motions,

as she guided my hands all over her. She sat me on the bed,

next to her; she removed her shirt and came in closer once more,

making me remove her bra, a soft embrace-

*

She was shimmering yet in my (blank) mind,

a sort of haze; awe-struck.

She guided me to lay on the bed with her, her tongue playing with mine

I had to remove my glasses, for they were steaming up, and I remember

just how much effort was needed to actually do what she wanted-

*

Later on she poured in my ear pink whispers,

and so happy, she fell on me, putting her whole weight on me,

laughing and kissing me one hundred times

as though she had always loved me, and always will.

In the middle of the night, she sat on the bed,

how odd she acted back then, like a little, giggling girl,

coming closer to me and kissing me so many times,

it was like glimpsing at her deeper, truer self,

emancipated of any social masks,

the self she only allows in complete intimacy,

in complicity,

in love-

*

Yet I didn't share her love, well not exactly. Thinking back,

I suppose I wasn't ready for a relationship,

especially not one with such underlying issues.

Oddly I didn't feel bad; of taking,

of tasting her love,

for I didn't demand it,

I didn't ask for it!

She handed it to me,

she gave it to me,

she offered herself to me,

as if my reaction would be guaranteed?

As if rejection was out of the question,

as if I didn't have a say about it.

She threw herself at me, and I didn't know what to do,

so sleepy and unsuspecting I was-

*

I still remember her hundred kisses,

yet the magic, the effervessence,

just wasn't there! Well at least not for me.

Perhaps if I was in a different mindset; after a date,

or a nice day, but the way she went about it wasn't right...

But who am I to say. I've read in a novel a few days ago;

''A woman is never wrong.''

Therefore I was to blame, and the very next day,

she inevitably saw her love, unanswered-

*

She promptly made all the preparations to leave my life.

In a matter of two days she had disappeared,

I suppose she couldn't handle my idiocy-

*

I've haven't really seen her much since then. She got a boyfriend,

and another, and quite a few over the years.

She now seems to be glowing, and I'm happy for her, I guess.

A friend of mine actually met her the other day,

and since she knows both of us, she asked about me,

wondering if I'd like to see her.

I haven't reached out.

I can't go back to the past.

I can't romanticize our short moments, except perhaps in these words,

feeble attempt at poetry, at immortalizing that night by the candlelight

*

Even today, I see my past self, in her arms,

fumbling in the dark, uncertain,

so close to the truth yet blind to it,

perhaps not blind but unwilling to embrace it,

to accept it for what it is.

Unable to grasp her love,

for who would love me?

Certainly not her, I once thought.