NEW CYCLES - Using One Another

"I suppose I scared you off huh?" I asked, laying on his chest listening to him compress his breath without being too obvious. After listening to my tragic stories about how love did me dirty, he came back, again and again. I wanted to trust his interests, they seemed morbid but I compared them to a man with good intentions but men lie most, unnecessarily. He left that day knowing me, partially yet so wholly. I mean it was my entire life from just 10 months of a forever full of incomplete cycles. I knew my mess was alluring to him. He'd come back, I told him, and he'd want to save me, out of love or out of pity, but one way or another he'd become my new cycle of chaos. He'll like my depth, then grow to love it until he realizes it's as permanent as my birthmarks, then he'll leave.

I wanted nothing from him; well, expect to use him to revisit a time I once loved, or plenty other moments, with another man, that wasn't him. I couldn't have him in my space, that part was for my love, in case he came back. So I let him have me at his. Polished, almost as tall but not as beautiful. More in tune, emotionally, brave about love and never minding my honesty that I might not want him as much as he did me. 

"Perhaps you'll wake up from this hellish limbo, and I'll show you everything you're holding on to wasn't worth it to begin with." He'd said, standing across me at the kitchen counter, where for a while he'd spoken like someone I'd deem mine and mine alone if I actually trusted him. 

We drank, a little wine. For 2 hours, 4 bottles and an easy 'no bullshiting each other' conversation. He fell in love multiple times, with me speaking of myself, when I let him hear me sing and when I told him why Switzerland was a place I'd surrendered my heart to, "I'm Maria, just as Paulo described her, broken, wanting love yet so bent on trapping it in the pages of a diary I've owned as a teen." 

I found my spot in his space. His backyard, where you could see my greatest lover, who comforts me at 3Am - the moon. My drunken self damn near collapsed to the grass, to face my love, and tell him I missed someone that wasn't around with me no more, he'd probably not thought of me since he'd last seen me, he probably laid next to someone as I was on the ground. He stood watching me change faces wondering about someone that wasn't him. "Was he happy?" "Who's he sexing?" "He better not play my songs." "Damn, that fucking playlist." 

Like a true gentleman, so seemingly unbothered, he strayed not so far from his mission. You've guessed by now that the wine was intentional. I was meat, to him at that moment, his to be exact, perfectly marinated ready to be tossed around in erotic bliss, or at least I hoped so. He took my hand to help me off the ground. I found it ironic, it was exactly how I'd imagined mine to handle me someday. Between you and I, he had a viscous presence to his manliness, completely assertive in his gentleness, firm in stance even in silence; it was enchanting to say the least. 

Perhaps it was his broad shoulder and his dark chocolate skin. He seemed intriguing for a while. But his grip brought my dumbass to its senses. I played my part. Remembering I left my place with a mission of my own, to use him unremorsefully to forget my last one - to experiment, he was my project and I was his. Judge all you want, but even he wanted to be used by someone that looked and spoke as I did. He fell in love multiple times. Starring at me, as if seeing me for the first time through Vedo's 'Focus On You' song that was playing. He ogled me to be specific, "what's going on in that beautiful mind?" I thought silently. The more he did, the better he seemed. 

Completely surrendered to his obvious masculinity, I asked for him to start, to never finish until he'd rid me of the images of my once upon a time. 

He smirked, and with intent, proceeded towards me...

Image from: theblackxpression