Newborn

The nights we spend together. Naked bodies gleaming in the Christmas lights strung up on the walls. Our lips pressed together and my breasts pushed to your chest. You run your hands up and down my back and legs and stop every now and then to press your fingers into my skin and make me moan. Your eyelashes flutter as we explore each other as if each night was our first together. We're silent but for the sounds of our breathing and the occasional praise of god or partner, both of us terrified of disturbing those in the rooms surrounding us. At night, just the two of us we open up to each other, blossoming like Casablanca lilies that open only when the sun is gone. Daytime is friendly and sweet, satisfied silences and small talk punctuate our hours together. But at night, when we've done gasping and shaking and my fingernails have scored red tracks on your back, we talk deeply of the things we desire the most and our fears for the future. And I feel closer to you than I've felt towards anyone in a long time. When you hold me like you do all my pain and loneliness rushes back in but it cannot hurt me because you've built a dam around my heart and though the waves of hurt crash against it, they can't get in. So maybe that's why even though I don't love you, I can't stand to be away from you. Every second not spent in your arms is a total fucking waste and I loathe every minute I'm not near you. I can't help but press my lips to yours or lay gentle kisses on your nose and jaw. Wrapping my arms around you is as involuntary as breathing and I require both to survive each day. You're a piece of me now and I feel horribly guilty for drawing you into my web of sickness and deceit but I need you now and I don't think I could manage being alone anymore. I think I'd wither to nothing and my last breath would still be your name, asking why you never came to me.