a marriage: scene one (version two)

It is dusk.

Rapid rain drops forceful against glass, an angry wind, lightning followed by the thunder – startling in its force and depth.

From the outside looking in, a reflection of The Husband, standing tall, tense, erect.

He is staring, blankly, pass his reflection at the lights, skyscrapers, and rain. In the room, elegant and austere in its demeanor – only a faint light from a lamp to his right.

On his feet, tan burnished leather cap-toe shoes. On his body, a three piece impeccably tailored striped wool black suit. Hands in his pockets forcing his jacket open, reveals a vest framing a narrow waist; a navy-blue shirt is fitted perfectly to his broad chest and wide shoulders; a thick matching tie crafted in silk is expertly knotted around his neck, sitting just below a prominent Adam’s Apple. He wears initialed gold cuff links, an anniversary present from The Wife.

His face: serious,

Eyebrows scowling,

Jaw, tense.

Nostrils, flaring as he breathes slowly, deeply, deliberately.

Eyes, tender, sad, tangled in thought.

A loud sigh, then quickly and suddenly, his face falls into his chest.

Slowly, his hands slip out of his pockets and reach up to encapsulate his face.

His wedding band of silver and diamonds shimmers in the relative darkness.

“How did I get here?” he whispers. “How did we get here?”

A gentle knock on a door, luring him reluctantly to the present Moment.

“It’s me,” she whispers, her voice filled with joy and anticipation.

He looks up, turns his body as if by force, and fixes his gaze on the door, frozen.

Another knock, slightly louder than the first and a little less confident.

She hesitates; he deliberates.

A bit of a stalemate.

He finally gathers himself, walks to the door and – slowly – opens it.

Their eyes meet, their lips smile.

She exhales; he inhales.

Both relax just a bit.

He reaches for her hand and gently draws her in, closing the door.

As her eyes adjust, she takes in the space – a large, elegant living room occupied with two massive couches facing each other and separated by an intricate modern chandelier that hangs low from the high ceilings, a baby grand piano, coal black and glistening, is framed by a wall of windows, floor to ceiling bookcases, and art everywhere – paintings and sculptures – a distinctly masculine vibe emanates from both the room and her host.

She continues to study the room, beyond the couches, a bar comes into view as if an oasis. A sudden urge for drink, for calm and grounding.

He is studying her intently, standing still, by the door, hands in his pockets.

The only sounds in the room – rain against the windows, the occasional howl of the wind outside, abated breaths.

She begins to remove her coat (long, fitted, soft black leather). As if by cue, he is behind her, helping.

He takes her coat; she moves toward the bar.

Her attire: a shiny cobalt blue, two-piece silk tailored business suit – slim jacket paired with a pencil skirt that fell a few inches above her knees. On her feet, four-inch black pumps. No jewelry. Manicured hands, minimal makeup. Her dark black hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks, joining her at the bar.

She settles into plush stool, feeling its softness on her hands and the back of her thighs.

He is behind the bar, waiting and watching.

She looks fully into his eyes for the first time since arriving, searching…

“I’ll have what you have,” she says – never losing contact with his eyes.

They smile and blush. He breaks their gaze to pour their drinks.

Every move he makes, she notes and remembers why she is here, why she is taking such a risk for the first time in her life.

“He is worth it,” she thinks. Her heart softens, her smile broadens as she accepts his drink.

Their fingers touch and eyes soon follow suit.

Cheers!” she says.

Cheers!” he responds, himself beginning to relax, just a bit.

The potency and complexity of the cognac are a welcome to both.

Feeling somewhat fortified, he says: “I have never in twenty years, been unfaithful to my wife.” Another, fuller hit of the expensive spirit.

“I have never even considered a married man,” she responds, and quickly takes in a mouthful of the cognac, swallowing quickly, craving the subtle burning at the back of her throat.

Their eyes meet, anxious smiles on the surface, desire simmering underneath.

That desire propelled them here today, arising – subconsciously – from the moment they first met, three years ago when she arrived at his firm, adeptly lured away from a formidable competitor by his younger brother and partner.

She quickly became an invaluable asset, working long hours by his side – they, the first ones into the office, and always the last ones to leave.

Professional and respectful always, she had met his wife, and admired her a great deal – creative, smart, funny, and utterly fearless, she perceived His Wife.

He had met her longtime boyfriend and got along with him famously. So much so, there were many double dates. Fun, memorable evenings – hours filled with exquisite food, excellent wine, intense, endlessly flowing conversations, and so much laughter.

One day – exactly a year ago – it all changed. She felt it coming. Her boyfriend decided to leave, citing the need for a more traditional relationship, one where the woman did not willingly work twice as many hours as her man and earned substantially more.

Tethered to no one and now a vested partner in The Husband’s firm, she worked harder, giving her all to work she adored and found profoundly meaningful.

He, too, invested more of himself to work. They would often share late dinners and early morning breakfasts.

Professionalism and respect continued between them, although it was becoming more and more challenging – she grew closer to The Husband, becoming a confidant as he pulled farther away from The Wife, his first love going back to University, and the mother of his children – twin boys now in college.

One late night – just last week – as they prepared to leave the office building to their respective homes, there was a passionate, lingering kiss as if long destined, a wave they could not contain.

No words were spoken nor plans made aloud.

There was an impending and important business trip that had been diligently planned six months earlier.

And here they are now, at the bar inside a dimly lit hotel suite, silently taking each other in. Outside, a cacophony of sound and sight: rain, wind, lightning, and thunder.

Dark Chocolate

I see You.

You have no clue

what your entity

unleashes

within

me.

Instantaneously,

the heat rises

from underneath.

Familiar stirrings,

deep yearnings,

salivation

follows

thoughts of salvation

in the form of sweet sensations

found in your arms

and between your thighs.

You

the color and smell of darkest chocolate,

the taste of an elegant wine,

the touch and feel of a Man at his prime.

Alas, you have no clue

what it is you do,

how I perceive of you.

Chemistry

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” ― C.G. Jung

A bit of a mystery,

this thing called chemistry:

that inexplicable spark,

ignited from the depths of the loins

or Heart,

where connection starts.

The lean in – 

straight, no chaser –

is a little closer,

paying careful attention.

Two ships stopping,

not wanting to miss anything.

A stirring on the inside,

butterflies,

a yearning to learn

who resides

on that side;

how songs are played

on that life’s stage.

Chemistry,

no rhyme,

no reason-

simply the right season;

a destiny fulfilled

as per God’s Will.

 

 

The Bulge

there It is:

The Bulge.

on full display;

i cannot seem to

look away,

to focus on the richness

of what he had come

to say.

on The Bulge,

my eyes linger

as my mind wanders:

what does it

look like,

feel like

when released

and fully unleashed?

how tall does it stand?

i imagine its feel

in my hands,

its taste in my mouth

when I’ve made my way down, South.

No!

Will not go nowhere

by going there.

I force my gaze,

my thoughts

way up, North.

we lock eyes-

yikes, I’ve been caught!

eyes, now shut,

i blush.

the heat,

the guilt,

the stench

of shame

rises,

takes a seat,

whispers

familiar recriminations

in my ears.

I just want to disappear!

The Bulge

brought

desperation,

longing,

latent sexuality

to the uncomfortable fore,

much too near…

here come the tears…

shedding-as always-

internally.

Penetration

What does it take

to penetrate

the walls you make

for protection’s sake?

How do I get

to you

into you

through you?

What am I to do?

I come,

you run;

I confide,

you hide;

I offer space,

you then hesitate.

What does it take

to penetrate

your mind

your heart

your body

your soul?

How to release

some of that control

to which you hold

as if it is gold?

A body so tight,

a mind attuned to fight

or flight.

Yet, underneath,

I see a spirit

seeking an invite,

desperate for a way out.

When you are ready

to let me in,

to be the feminine

to my masculine,

I’ll come running.

When you are

no longer so scared,

I’ll be there.

When your mighty walls

finally

crumble and fall,

I offer myself

at our beck and call.

 

 

the kiss

still,

the most perfect

of my life.

back then,

I, a relative neophyte,

standing in unfamiliar land

with a seasoned ladies’ man.

he, skilled in the art of

seduction and tease.

me, scared, excited

and so very intrigued.

he, leans in

confidently.

me, inside, trembling

nervously.

our lips

lock

instantaneously.

my heart

stops-

literally.

in me,

some things have shifted-

a veil, heavy weights

have been lifted.

suddenly, inexplicable-

as if from an old

body memory-

I can give

and receive

pleasure

in equal measure.

exploring, digging ever deeper,

for boundless treasure

within, first, myself

and, then thus, the “other.”

I am

no longer me, no we-

just utter and complete transparency.

I have become untethered and free!

the depth, the intensity,

makes me oh so heady!

the Kiss

becomes an intricate dance-

at times, a fiery flamenco,

next a little funky disco-

we’re lost inside an exquisite trance.

so sublime,

we’ve no sense of space and time.

who am I?

 

Chuma

He lays there,

soundly and peacefully

asleep-

my Muse, my Love, my Beauty.

Strong and magnificent,

a man’s Man,

vulnerable in his complete nakedness.

I, fully awake and scantily clothed,

quietly gazing, utterly enthralled,

taking Him in slowly, fully and whole.

His beautiful mane,

dreadlocked and soft,

glistening wet in the moonlight from our sweat.

His Adam’s Apple – an irresistible and tasty treat.

Those lips – full, rich, assertive and so sweet.

My Love’s nose: broad and proud!

His nostrils, gently flaring now in sleep,

do so much more aggressively

when he abandons himself in heat.

I stare at Love’s powerful arms,

responsible for my first losing my resolve,

and within which I still dissolve.

His large and elegant hands,

that of a master musician demands.

His expansive back,

a continent of its own,

I can see it in shadow,

its every muscle, prominent and toned.

My eyes longingly linger down

to that beautiful mound

smooth and round-

like a perfect peach,

each one of his cheeks.

Next: those legs –

like that of a regal thoroughbred.

Legs strong enough to

off my feet, sweep

carrying me

to this here, our bed, our sacred Sanctuary.

I go to him, My BeLoved,

drawn by forces without and within,

those of innocence and sin.

I need to touch,

to feel,

to inhale him,

to lay entwined in a quiet embrace,

to get as close as the flesh will dictate.

 

 

L’homme Délicieux

how is it possible that God could have poured

so much deliciousness in just one Cup?

it is simply too much for another to sop up!

blowing the mesmerized mind every time,

man delicious,

can’t look at ya,

can’t look away.

your utter exquisiteness

holds such sweet sway.

too fine,

you personify sublime.

so damn divine,

like a delectable glass of rare, perfectly aged wine.

beyond luscious,

you overpower, disarm and intoxicate!

how then does a mere mortal adequately navigate?

enthralled, thrown, spellbound,

I ask my Lord:

why so much scrumptiousness into one Cup you poured?