He said to me, “What a wonderful place you are,
like a treehouse, or an old-fashioned ice cream parlor!
Our lovemaking is a vacation I am on, along with you.
I experience you more as an event than a woman,
we are a celebration that only we were invited to attend.”
I think about his words, his deeds, for he is away from me now
in both space and time. Yes, I’m lonesome,
but not for him as much as the way he made me feel.
It’s like my skin has a memory of him, better than my mind.
For there was a time when I loved him so much,
that just the air would hurt me.
It was frightening to need someone that violently,
but I’ve found that it’s even more frightening
not to feel that way, anymore, about anyone.
Once upon a time, I believed in Cinderella
and looked for armored knights
in your landscaped backyard and your lavish bedroom.
We’ve both lived long enough by now to know
that as much as I’ve been deformed by fantasy,
you have been mutilated by reality.