75. TMI


My lover meets me in my safe space.

With him there is no sudden thrust of the verbal sword.

The stupid social fences tossed aside,

We strain towards each other.

No more averted gazes.

Too much knowing, so much wanting.

The best kind of danger, that peaks in desire and capture.

The years have given us a vocabulary of surrender,

Defeat we can glory in. Losses that feel like gains.

Every private moment a victory.

Mutual desire is an elixir so potent,

It exists in the crevices between perception and acknowledgement.

It blossoms in the garden of charged conversation.

It waters itself from the groundswell of heated laughter.

It feasts on the bounty of electric contact.

We could make it sound complicated if we wanted.

After all, for us, desire led to birth which led to autism.

But, fortunately, like autism, desire has no cure.




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