The Theory of Many Selves II


He basked in the gaze of his eyes. Completeness was his gift. The very best. It is that power which makes the song too slow or too fast. I grow confused. He reads my mind and stretches for the perspiring glass. It is cold and tastes as only water can beautiful and so vaguely alive. I look at him in wonder. How is it so that perfection is the only thing we want but once?

We make love once more and this time it is pretty, sticky, warm and cool at the right bits. It’s like tea sweet and then comes the flood of tannin. Perhaps all that we need is a bit of sweetness and a lot of kindness. This is hard for it’s so much easier to scream and yell and use sarcasm and long - unkind words and stupid mean looks of which we seem to be so proud of. Can it be the human race think this is living? If so it is indeed foolish, for we as a species are renowned for only one thing, that quality called humanity.

My, no his breath comes in short gasps. My hand clasps his. We are beautiful. Naked by the starlight of the star called the sun. Mock me once more and I will teach your children kindness. And thereafter you will forever be taunted by your haunting memories of this one moment, a moment that will come to define your life. Would you want this, I wonder? Perhaps that is why we gift, a symbol of all our love and all our apologies for not telling you or is it I that we love you.

So here I go.

You love I.