I always get lost on my way to your place yet how quickly my feet find the road away once my back is turned and the warmth of your cheek on mine has faded. In the darkness as we walked and whispered to each other, as my insides ached for you, I saw silhouettes of what I knew were the hard places I could not penetrate, the hard places within myself where I am now hiding. You always lay open for me and I take you, selfish with what I fear may one day no longer be mine. Hungrily. Then, sleep, deep and dreamless. I may as well be alone. Morning comes and I am reminded that this is not my home. I am a stranger here, crashed on your shores like driftwood.
In my motions, as I strain against your invisible leash, as I feel your eyes following my moves, I am fervent. My feet are on fire. Your floors, cool just a few hours ago, now burn and chase me away. Your lips, soft and hot and welcome, are now desperate, searching for what I do not yet want to give. And I dash. Even when we leave together, I am dashing, to where you are not. To where I can quell these anxieties, these blossoming affections that threaten to unbalance me. I find the road away too easily, brushing you off like the crumbs of a too-sweet biscuit eaten hurriedly. The sugar has gone to my head and my teeth are throbbing. Maybe I should savour you, take you in slowly, and allow my pace to resonate with yours. Maybe, for the first time in a long time, I should be the one to play catch up, the one to reach and hanker for and be the one to fantasize.