entry(23): retaliate

The anesthetic spell of love roots in to make us forget about reality. Life is as boring as it is; routines that never end and thus we pray for some adventure (!) and a person whom we call lover to perhaps lead the way to wonderland. A lover to witness our being, our actions, the very complex of our demons; whom by the way nobody ever cared to witness before. So we split our self open; yes we split our legs in bed and our souls bare. Naked enough to be confident on exposing one’s anxieties, fears, and frustrations; confident enough and then challenging until we clash and loathe each other and grasp on whatever it is that remains of one’s infidelity.  The smear of lust and sex and orgasms - oh please orgasms for crying out loud. The conscious subconscious to move away from a lover’s arms and on to a stranger’s breasts - the beauty of careless sex. Free of charge, emotionless, sweet sweat of sins denied mightily in an unfaithful mind. So the other party left nothing but the options to weigh things in hand. To be torn by pain yet be liberated in the acknowledgement that the sinner would be miserable without the parole of the one she admitted to love; or to act brave and cut loose on the foolishness of the impeccable pecker.  By then the lover who was once left behind would have chosen rationality, yet again always rationality. Fingers have been smeared by vaginal fluids, always a bath soap for that. Bodies have been putrefied by the devil’s lips; always her tongue to untraced the crime. By then things would have been set to their proper resolution. Steady things would become, now let us just wait for her retaliation.