By a naive age, I had to learn what lingered between words. Learn what happens under the influence of love was an unsheathed, sharp edge of a blade. A weapon only combatted with liquor and lust. Though I’ll begrudgingly admit a proper opponent is worthy of a shot. And that gave me hope— a weak fighting chance.
I always thought love was a net of safety. Until it had become a constant reminder of everything dangerous and cruel in this lifetime.
At this point, nothing was honed enough to defeat my forged shield of heartlessness. Where metal fashioned over my emotions had been crafted by mistakes.
A sea seized me with its wet body. Coating my throat with a substance that burned and skewered my senses. My guard.
Liquor.
Behind every lazy blink lingered a fading conscious which flickered like the lights through the din of a party scene.
I gruelingly surveyed the crowd before me. Taking in conversations and smells that lingered about the quarters. It was hot enough that moisture clung to the air, regardless of the suns setting. And beneath layers of my thick clothing, congealed beads of sweat built down my back. All too suddenly my cheeks joined, burning abashedly, as I met the stare of him across the room. Challenging me to a familiar duel I couldn’t win.
The air between us seemed to hum, the plumes of smoke whorls shivering with renewed and raging rapture.
And maybe withstanding a lack of conscious calculation, he took two offensive steps forward and I matched him with two steps back. My spine greeted a stone hard fridge. Fresh and multiplying droplets of sweat gathered, sticking to the fabric of my shirt. It hadn’t been from the dawning warmth that circulated. No.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, a residue of burning liquor trailing behind.
Almost unnoticeably with primal grace, he inclined his chin— an unmistakable gesture of my familiar opponent.
I didn’t bother finding my footing, my balance, under the pressure of intoxication. And followed suit. Thoughtlessly, leaving behind my devices and satiating my curiosity as I walked through the threshold of his bedroom. An ancient and familiar battle field where my love still stained.
Shamelessly curtained in the darkness of each blink was my withering consciousness. So easily disrupted by the sight in front of me. My eyes now big and immovable, as I studied every real inch of him before me. The mere sight of my past lover seizing my heart. Paralyzing it. Me.
Lust.
A bitter taste of carnal longing found my tongue, burning caution from every taste bud. I took a large swig from my glass washing down all that blossomed. And nonetheless, one thorn at a time— the cultivation of heartlessness I forged— fell like a rose in the heart of winter. Withered. Fallen. Dead.
I couldn’t help but ask him— but get lost in his blue eyes. Drown my strength in the pools of his gaze. “Did you know any better?”
With ease and overflowing elegance, he shook his head. So fluidly comfortable in his body as he leaned against the doorframe to the washroom. “I wish I had.” Like polished silver, his words were smooth and sharp, steel-like… as if that was his first strike. Love was a sharp blade.
And the hardness stored in his eyes held no lying tells. “You didn’t either…did you?” He asked. The question hanging heavy in the silence. Heavy on my shoulders. Cumbersome on his as they curved inwards and his frame now slouched against the wooden entryway. Weakness painting his bearings too.
The second truth rendered the reasoning behind the first.
I shook my head, clenching my jaw so hard it had trembled. “No” the words a near rasp. Returning longing now found rest along my tongue once more. Sour, so sour. And beneath that was a coating of sweetness I wanted to give in to. “But I do now.” I said through the sourness.
A lie— an utter lie skewering the soul of the unguarded romantic in me. Swearing affection to treachery. Though those lying syllables tasted like rebellion because I was utterly ravenous for his love. Fearless against any wounds his love brought.
Everything I hadn’t admitted weighed heavy on me. My armor still hanging close to my body.
Infinite barriers couldn’t suppress the ball of dread in my stomach, swelling where lethal recollection of our carnage flooded me. Hot and boiling in my blood— only a flame he could simmer. And as if he could smell the ashes, his lips crashed onto mine. A second nature, where their meeting fell into a symphonic rhythm like two practiced warriors. Suddenly a reprieve of jailed affection. Pain and longing stung as he salted the rotted wound he carved into my heart. And still, my needing soul poured back into his. And him doing so in return too. Scars reopened.
My loss of will put me into a defenseless, vulnerable state, where his mouth was my demise and yet a drug. My thoughts turned to liquid. And the searing heat of our very alive love cooled at our collapse. Armor falling with us.
Love.
I gathered myself. Unsteadily, he inched back, regret painting his features. We would welcome pain soon.
I involuntarily let a soft exhale slip, sighing. And he caught his breath, finishing our unspoken words. “And yet understanding doesn’t mean anything to you does it?” An edge to his words like a sharpened blade ready to free more blood in love’s name. Again. “It sure doesn’t to me.”
Like failed artists of combat, yielding to the truth of implicit waning restraint.
We were two warriors feet from another. Fearful that the other might just seize control of our heart once more. But daring of a challenge— an equal opponent where death neared and the heavens answered. Where our hearts dropped shields and permitted the odds of beauty or bane.
It was the silence between our meager words which said more than the little vigilance we pledged. The pressure of swords against our chests weren’t a strong as what hovered beyond our apprehension.
So I had to learn what lingered between words. Learn what happens under the influence of love was the sharp edge of a blade. Though I supposed my only proper opponent stood before me. Beckoning for a fighting chance.
Fearless. I was fearless with his sword at my heart. I was ravenous for his love. And I’d die at his hands again. For eternity scarred by his kisses.
And maybe it’s the liquor talking, but bury my body in his affection.
