My Love

In the morning your eyes pink from sleep gaze at me. Your long curly eyelashes surround a mystery – hazel windows to your soul.

There is substance there, in your eyes – a depth I want to explore.

You lean over for a kiss I’m hesitant to give.

Morning breath, I explain.

You don’t care. Your thin lips feel surprisingly full and soft on my mouth. They turn down at the corners – forever locked in sadness.

On the night table stands a photograph of you as a boy. “This is the boy who will grow up to be the man I love,” I think. Your eyes so bright and clear; your hair hastily matted down; your face scrubbed rosy fresh. You smile into the camera, and I wonder what happened to that innocence.

As we lie in bed my hand traces the dark hairs that trickle down your chest and spread in a fuzzy patch around your navel. I massage you there, press your soft belly and twirl the hair between my fingers. I bury my face in your chest; the hair tickles my nose.

I inhale deeply. You smell like day-old cologne and warm sweat.

I make my way down to you-know-where – my lips grazing your goose-pimpled skin. I take you in my mouth.

With my tongue I feel the hair on the underside of your penis. Your body is a landscape of hair, my love. Everything else seems like an afterthought.

Like a trusting puppy you lie on your back, genitals exposed, revelling every touch.

You are the embodiment of a Jack Russell Terrier – wired with energy, an insatiable need to please and to be pleased. Moderation holds no meaning for you. One kiss is never enough. Whenever I pull away I find your lips still seeking mine. An embrace can only be the prolonged kind. You pull me to you with a fervour that takes my breath away. You want so much, my love.

Like Houdini in a straitjacket I try to break free. Your craving for affection sometimes overwhelms me, drains me. While I love with one hand in front of me, you love with both arms outstretched.

I fear my love is not enough for you. You will always be thirsty with me.

Only when you are sleeping do I allow myself to love freely. I watch you in the dim light. With your body curled, knees drawn up, you are precious as a baby – the night is your womb.

I lower the hand I usually use to keep you at arm’s length and caress your shoulder. I listen to the rise and fall of your breathing, your intermittent snoring. I spoon you and whisper, “I love you.”

Tears flow quietly, but my heart cries out to you. Can you hear me, lover?

I press my body against you, hoping you will wake to feel the weight of my love.