my careless contagion

Love is blind. As I was taking my run today in the blowing snow and with darkness creeping in (and before telling a nice man I didn't need a ride because I was just out for a jog), it hit me like a bolt of lightning. How blind can one man be?  It doesn't matter what people tell you. It doesn't matter what you tell yourself, either. The truth exists on its own plane, and we have to find it where it is. Nevertheless, sometimes it comes looking for us. Today was that day for me.  I didn't see all the danger signs when I fell in love the first time. I wasn't even looking for them the second time I fell in love. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm really disappointed in myself because of the things I did when I fell in love the second time. I broke too many rules. I was a good man who did some really bad things. I can't really dwell on something that's been confessed and forgiven. But sometimes it's shocking what I did.  Maybe it ...

  I imagine us like animals, groping with dumb hands and exhaling fire, fixated on each other. If the world were to end, we wouldn't even know. We'd be madly making love like this.  I see myself obsessively, passionately, rapturously handling you. It's always from behind, as if I saw your face, it would be over in seconds. And I want this to last. I want to feel like I've gone to the edge with you and returned, sweaty and tired but proud. Your face turns enough for me to see your eyes closed tight, and my mouth rushes to meet yours, but you turn away again. Your body is clothed in odd sections, unclothed in the only way that matters right now — underwear still clinging to one foot, skirt on the bed, blouse and bra still on, and my favorite necklace gathering moisture on your neck.  The ache is a whole-body ache. The inevitable release is like a perfect spring day after a long winter, like finishing a grueling race, like souls crashing together. It's explosi...