break-fast

It shouldn’t have to be this way, it shouldn’t have to be so empty, so meaningless, so utterly devoid of anything even remotely resembling happiness or reverence.

All it is, is the rancorous memory of the one that broke with a kiss and a smoke.

And the one that began with my face in your hands.

Sleepy eyes saw nothing much, just recognized the comfort of being smiled back at by you.

Now sleepy eyes see nothing at all, and the twilight outside my window is for someone else’s lover’s eyes.

I stumble out of fitful slumber to the sound of knuckle against wood, calling me to arms at the dining table. And freed from the mystic relief of dreamlessness, I plunge head first into a memory that has you sprawled next to me under a golden blanket on a bed warmed by our expended passion. The lights cascading through to light your body in a hue that looks like filtered sun rise. I sneak a peek under the covers to watch you writhe in mock coyness, stretching out your body to give me a better view. And tempted beyond god’s will, we concede defeat to that which promises heaven in the here and now.

This year, just like the last, I have no excuse. And so I shall bind myself to an edict that through the ages has brought me greater satisfaction than even drawing breath, at times.

And this year, just like the last, I begin by missing nicotine and you.

A half severed cricket bat lies against a wall in my room, and it reminds me of thirsty days spent with friends in barren plots, smacking away at tennis balls to bide our time till frenzied feeding could ensue. That’s a nice, fluffy, rainbow colored memory, with wispy echoes of adolescent laughter and sepia tones of joyful flashbacks.

But that’s not what I choose to recall when I have no choice at all.

Instead, my mind conjures up a black velvety dress, snuggled tight around perky teen age breasts, and a slender fingered hand, not yet marked by the glass bangle I broke, and a set of lips, eager to devour saliva with the sun set.

I feel your hair brush against my brand new goatee and your hands press against my chest, a whiff of the scent of your skin comes unbidden even now if I’m not careful about what I prefer to remember; and lying face down on my bed, all of that feels just like yesterday. Maybe that is why it makes me reel and gulp and choke.

Because in an unguarded moment, you can still be so damn close to me.

But, this year I have no excuse. This year, I need none.