Regret

Two writers, clothed in their personas,
incinerated a place called 'Heat's Forum.'
Reacting to the other's words
in stories and by response
kicked up the heat, were in heat, wrote heatedly
of love and lust; erotica kicked up a notch.

Digger and angel:) quickly burned out the pages,
garnered interest, gathered their followers,
and in the way of being perceived online
were conceived as a couple; and all believed.
We were good.

Our words
kicked temperatures up,
set pulses racing--
imaginations creating a reality
so true that it was thought
we merely did what writer's do best:
we wrote what we knew.


When first we talked via phone line,
hearing each other's voices;
reality replaced imagination--
filled in missing gaps.
His scots-aussie accent, perfect
for reading John Donne poetry,
was the type where one listened to the mere sound
as well as to what was said.
Enough to make one drool
as hormones raced
inciting grand passions
that in turn
became true friendship.
In true cyber/rt fashion
we'd made love before
we knew each other's name.

Events in our separate lives
would negate this on-line affair,
but then dreams came true after a fashion.
We met and explored each other
as we explored
castles across England and Scotland
for three weeks
and several lifetimes.

Real time sparks flew--
entire worlds could have been consumed
had the burning intensities been let loose.
Beyond banked fires
friendship burned true and deep and hot.
Being noble or faithful
we chose not
to fully explore what we both desired
and just simply enjoyed each other's company.
Except that
we were good.


Years later we continue our real time lives,
catch up via messengers;
the occasional phone calls.
Only recently did we ever
actually voice that decision,
that choice we made.
Honorable actions aside,
I fully expressed how much
I'd wanted to consummate
that which we had,
how much I still, in all honesty,
kick myself
for not exploring.

Wanting so badly,
beyond mere desire,
beyond yearning.
So close, so unfulfilled.
So empty.
I wish we'd shared that ultimate bonding.
And then
to find out
he did too.

What we set fire on paper,
still burns in the corner
of our collective subconscious.
Embers forever glowing,
never to be stoked
yet never turning to ash.