Expectation



It’s Tuesday night.

Tomorrow we will meet my love:

same time, same place.

I look forward greatly to my visit

and to all associated with you, my love.

I anticipate our ritual.

I anticipate your every move

and I long for your deep, wet embrace.

Tonight, I will sleep restlessly, lustfully,

anxious to be with you again.

I may dream of you, remembering and hoping.

Tomorrow, in the morn, I will set out to see you.

It is a long road to you,

but I will do all I can to make it to you quickly.

And when at last I do arrive,

I will see you

and you will see me

and all will be right.

Others will be jealous, but they need not be:

they will have their own in due time.

But you, you are for me.

Our embrace, our ritual,

it will begin, much like a liturgy,

But all religion will be lost in the heat of passion.

We will each concentrate only on our duty.

I will worship you and revere you

and you will bask in the glow of my reverence.

I will respect you

and you will do all you can, even unwittingly, to fulfill me;

It is in your nature.

We will feed off of each other.

But first, much like that liturgy,

our ritual must begin with a procession.

I will approach you, steadily and honorably,

and with every step closer to your seduction grows.

As I bring my few belongings toward you I stare into you,

into your wholeness, your being.

I lay my meager possessions beside you

and I prepare for the anticipated,

for the expected, for the inevitable.

I prepare for the dance,

the dance a certain few call love.

After undressing, I walk further toward you

and I prepare to initiate the contact,

pausing only to pay my final tribute to you,

before entering into the heat,

into the passion.

Performance

I enter you.

I slip into your deep, wet being.

Unsure of our surroundings,

I proceed slowly, at first,

becoming used to you once again.

Although you are essentially the same,

your personality has changed somewhat.

You are not passive as your sometimes are;

you are clearly alive and invigorated.

You come at me will all you have

and I respond in kind.

I dart and dive deeper,

deeper towards the center of you,

stopping only to admire your beauty,

to appreciate your glorious parts.

But I reach my ultimate destination at last.

I have reached your depth

and a wave of ecstasy crashes over me,

enveloping me in your sensual embrace.

I push further into you

and as you push out at me

I lay back and ride you,

withdrawing a bit from your core.

However, quickly I slide back to your deepest portion,

anxious to continue the dance,

and you roar and scream with approval.

In response to your vocalization

I ride your thrusts in and out,

in and out,

endlessly,

with more and more passion and determination,

yelling and hollering as I slide throughout you.

Each of your pushes is the same

and yet each has its own style.

I adapt to each different nudge

and try to make the most of it for myself,

ever mindful that I can do only as much as you will allow.

And so, it is really you who controls this dance,

for without you, I would be alone.

You, you would find another.

But I am totally reliant on you

because no one else can satisfy me as you do.

And so, I work and I struggle

and I make the most of what you give to me.

And finally, we reach out climaxes.

And all I can do is ride this climax.

I work and I push and I strive and I succeed.

I feel air explode between us,

as I leave this planet and join the stars,

before I come crashing back down, on and into you.

Completely drained, yet fully satisfied,

I prepare to withdraw from you.

I take my time, lingering inside you awhile,

but finally, I come out of you,

leaving behind a bit of my presence,

and I lay beside you, staring into the heart of you.

The liturgy has now ceased,

but the dance is far from finished.

For the dance, that dance of love,

it will live as long as I, myself, do.

Withdrawal

Now as I lay here next to you

I stare into you and I am lost in your presence.

We lay like this for awhile,

time of little concern,

until we both know that it is time for me to depart.

I do not want to do so,

but it is right.

We will meet again, oh yes.

Maybe tomorrow, or next week, or next summer,

but we will meet again, it is for certain.

And so, somewhat reluctantly,

I pack up my few belongings and head home,

pausing several times for final glances at you.

You wave and bid me goodbye

and hope for me to come again,

just as I already anticipate my return.

But, as for now, I am homeward bound

I am in much less of a hurry to leave you

than I was to arrive,

and yet, dutifully, I head home.

Now, here I am, alone, some seven hours later.

As I lay here alone in my solitude I relive our dance.

I feel your thrusts, your caress,

as I plunge deeper and deeper into you.

My head becomes light and I feel you all over me.

Our dance continues this very moment.

And yet, here I lie, in isolation.

My memories of you are fond,

but still, so incomplete.

We shall continue the dance again;

soon, my love, soon.