Cut Me To The Quick

Friday morning you cut me to the quick.

In your bed, naked and vulnerable, I listened to your concerns about him and her. Endeavoring to hold on to myself and simply love, I felt numb more than anything else. I wanted to want nothing more than what you freely offered. I also wanted a cup of coffee...and a deep penetrating good morning fuck.

You explained your dilemma, that when I went home to him, you would be there alone. You said you wanted a singular relationship. To wake up in bed with the same woman every morning. You said that you wouldn't settle, no matter how lonely you got.

I would have settled for a cup of warm tea and gazing into your blue eyes. I wanted for you what you wanted for yourself.

I'd brought pictures and poetry to share but you had no time. Maybe you had no coffee or tea either.

Saturday night he made intense love to me and my damn broke. I sobbed and felt every texture of my shame, hurt and insecurity. His brown eyes gazed into mine as he entered me and cracked me open. My pain rushed in, filling me. I emptied and loved you more.

"Like a pouting child, you refuse to feel every texture of your shame, hurt, and insecurity; you refuse to open as this shape, to feel outward, to feel others, to feel the entire moment, and open as all." David Deida