Peace, Passion and a Confession of Love

In the darkness of night, I cover myself from chin to foot and allow my mind and spirit to wander free. I lift beyond the wrinkles and sagging skin or the bone deep weariness of my sixty year old body, and allow my inner self to rise smooth, strong and young within the vision of my mind's eye. It seems so sad that when I once looked like this image, I was too filled with insecurities and unanswered questions to appreciate my youth or allow myself to bypass my inhibitions but now when, I am too old to give a damn anymore, then the once stifled libido surges forward and the air is electric with sexual wanting and need. It is the writer in me and the one who still loves you...the "you inside" the distant older man. Your strength and your passion resonates in your words and your poetry; also in the worded way you made love to me so long ago in those passionate letters. We both felt as if we had touched despite the obstacles of time and distance or at least, I thought we had. You said you did but did you?

I could feel those strong hands on my breasts. massaging so slowly with warm lips and a seeking tongue. Wide fingers plunging deep into the crevice of my female secret and setting my soul on fire. Then we arose as two birds, different in type but melded as one in a flaming starburst of release. I was enraptured and entranced and my answers sang back as flutes of resonance to your song. I cleaved to you.

I loved you so and still do but after the crash of reality and the agony of truth, I can no longer tell you how much I once wanted nothing more in life than to live in the illusion with you forever.

It was not to be and though we still touch, something so spontaneous and perfect is gone.

Yet. deep in the night, when I am free, then I know that I still love you and always will...even beyond the limits of life.

It is the only way I know true peace now.