What makes you think that just because I said I love you that
I want to fuck you, that I want to put my head between your
shaking thighs and take you into my mouth and down into my
soul and mind and body and spirit and all of me into you, part
of you, Forever.
Your arrogance, in thinking that all I want is your skin against mine,
rubbing and vibrating and holding on with nothing between us but
air and breath and the heavy wall of denial that could hold back
oceans of tears and years of wishful thinking.
Your love is nothing compared with the years of history and violence and
fighting for all the wrong causes, dying inside while the body still lives, and
lying together and lying to each other and lying to the world and lying side
 by side near the ocean's edge.
Your hands entwined in thick ropes of matted and golden hair, clinging to the
last pieces of life before submergence in the deepest waters of the mind, descending
staircases to infinity before rising on the tides and swimming towards the shore
of insanity, blocked off by the long hair that creates the passage between now and
forever and eternity between the first two fingers of your left hand.