Next Time
the sex was good
but at this stage
good wasn’t enough
I craved more than contact
<>
he certainly enjoyed
the flesh on flesh
but not nearly as much
as he enjoyed the down low
the secret assignation
<>
his exploration of excitement
of things his wife didn’t provide
I was his walk on the wild side
that made the cultural box
he felt he had no way of avoiding
bearable
<>
the sex was good
I was a non-threatening opportunity
that had nothing to do with me
as a person
as a spiritual entity
he only wanted the release
when he wanted it
<>
his travel here
often took longer
than we played together
play that was clearly more than good for him
but a vitally needed contact
<>
the sex was good
but for me
good wasn’t enough
I want desire
chemistry
there wasn’t enough chemistry
for me to want more
not enough chemistry
to get an yen for him
I knew enough about him
I didn’t care
<>
now to tell him
the next time he calls
and I know he will call
they always do
A guy I saw decades ago once joked ‘How long before I show up in one of your poems?’ He never did but he was aware that writers, poets in particular, often write about their lives – it is a way of processing our experiences & a way remembering them. I didn’t tell him that poetry is a fiction that reflects the truth without telling it – reflections are often distorted by the light, by time & the surface that sends back the reflection.
Some of my pieces are composites of real events that I’ve experienced or that friends had told me about. This is one of those composite pieces that reflects that balance between lust & opportunity. One would think with changes in cultural mores men (or women) wouldn’t feel so bound to fulfill the roles of husband or father but many still do.
Whether out of a sense of not letting down the folks, or maintaining their ethnic standards they find themselves in domestic relationship boxes – often though, as in the case of the married man here, he felt little conflict in maintaining two lives. He also enjoyed the ‘sneak’ of meeting up to spending time with me – overtime, going to the gym tonight, etc.
Things between us developed beyond this stage as we talked about our lives outside the bedroom. Not that he was going to leave the missus or anything stupid like that but a mutual fondness was strong. But fondness is no mask in these pandemic years. So I haven’t seen him in over year now; we email occasionally but, to be honest, if we never meet up again, life will go on. He’ll be a sweet memory not a heart ache. He texted that he’s had his vaccine so I know he’ll call.
TOpoet 