We had an electric love.
But that was years ago.
And I'm so happy that you've moved on.
I mean, it's not like I think about you every night
and pine for your touch. No.
Staring into my gal-of-the-week's eyes,
wishing they were yours.
Kissing her and imagining your perfect lips
and tongue dancing with mine...
flicking, groping, asking...
answering.
Of course not.
Tongues intertwined, twisted,
coiled liked two serpents...
Like the two snakes on that medical doctor symbol thingy.
When I'm intimate with anyone,
I do not yearn for your sharp scent.
I don't close my eyes and trace her body with my tongue,
remembering every part of yours.
And I don't round the hood with my mouth and nose,
hoping to helplessly fall down your rabbit hole like...
Alice in the looking glass,
forgetting myself, forgetting everything,
becoming at once tiny and giant,
losing myself in your musky, damp, verdant...
life-giving earth.
I don't do any of those things.
I feel free.
I'm so happy that you feel that same freedom.
Praise be.