A Reflection of Inherent Inexperience

ONE night it happened again. Words I had hoped not to speak, faces I affirmed I would not make, faint emotional send outs that filled the room with the gloomy confusion that consumed me now flew erratically, bouncing off furniture and faces and making me, the culprit, impossible to ignore as the source. It was all accidental, of course. Otherworldly, if that word is appropriate for the occasion.

Lamentably, the reversal process is far more complex than giving. The discomfort  had already been inflicted and written upon your forehead I saw ‘disbelief’. My tomorrow became a Who, What, Where, Why, and How only to realize, “You are doing it again”…hush now.

A reflection of inherent inexperience.

When I was before the stern strength of your gaze, I was befuddled that to play meant to sleep, to love meant to eat, and some how…for a reason as ridiculous as negligent conviction…I sought the behavior of a lover, of being loved…because while a ram bleated in my ear and even the soft sensation of his coat grazed beneath my fingers, I sought to you for the comfort of certainty and instead found the scent of musk on my hands.


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