This green house has always had its own shadows, long and whispering, but always at hands reach. Not like the darker shadows of memory, clear and breathing.
He too I feel inside me, lurking unforgotten in the black corners, ready to jump yet unwilling to ruin the surprise, Black. The shock was his favorite part of the game. His voice sings to me, a somber tune, a Gaelic hymn, of love and reunited passion. His hands rough and tight, rub my chest pulling my breath. It is his voice I know I am hearing he, the first to teach me.
“You can not run from that which lives inside you.”
X saved me from these black shadows, freed me from myself, the strap was leather and my soul was broken. X was my savior he set me free
“Free is a word of breath overflowing with possibilities but devotion is that emotion overflowing with freedom. Black is that which covers, hidden, for even the faintest light casts a million shadows.”
His voice in my ear, the other, the darker memory. His breath lurking like a hand upon my shoulder the other in the back of my mind, it whispers.
“The faster to fall…. and sooner to be saved”
Did I choose this for him or is he returning to torture the memories I cannot find?
The same lips wandering across the threshold of my soul soft, wet, melting. I begin to fall again, remembering his lyrical tutoring voice, stalwart, scholarly, calculatingly masculine. He draws me in.
“Allowing the pain, a windowed clear glass.”
His teeth digging into my flesh, the memory devours my abilty to say no, the pleasure through the pain, He pulls me into his world
“We see through the pain, we allow ourselves to feel its cool pleasure, but never can be pass through it, a threshold to hold us from the other side.”
I believe him, His name speaks of his soul Black, and he was my first true love. I fall into him knowing he is my nightmare.
“Feeling is closest we come without death.”
His pulse so real against my back his arms wrapped to hold yet comforting to the touch. His mouth reading my wants, desires, holding me there.
I awake his black boots resting in my lap, I panic, his grip holds me ensnared, I know he is not real, his arms can not restrain me. I fight back. “NO” pulling away
“He was not real my love”
His arms pass through my body, hands clutching desperately at my heart, as the burning shiver radiates through me.
“YOU ARE MINE!” the memory screams, shaking loose the blackness which surrounds his voice.
I see his shadow disappear before me, he is waiting again, a lonely black spot amongst shadows.
He liesI cast a hand to my face for Dark is the only good when it is fear from which you are hiding