When I awake from the stupor I find myself silently disliking my egocentric way of assuming the perfect mate for the moment and then placing him in a trance like state with assumed comfortability to then get my fill and slowly unlock my legs from around his waist, and loosen my rhythmic grip onto his soul a little lesser each second until I am finally free from the false love and idolized moment of no longer mention of interest to me.
My soul is appeased or so I think
This pattern has become the running joke of an endless lovers trek of a newly arrived year and developing seasons. This pattern has cast many shadows on the authentically passionate moments that are far and few, but when they are experienced they become randomly noticeable and picturesque at most. 
When one lover slights you, you find yourself thrown into the arms of the next best interest and from there you take your fill on behalf of your drunken soul whose wallowing in the pits of lost love, craved for attention and a sex drive starved of "the one's" endless caresses.
It's a twisted game of survival and every lorn loved lover has to do it
So as I dance this devilish dance I take in everything that is before me...
We aren't al bad. I promise.
ReplyDeleteAgreed, but there are times when even the good sour.
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