by sharilyn

EMAIL: Sharilyn




I have scarcely left you

when you go in me, crystalline,

or trembling,

or uneasy, wounded by me

or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes

close upon the gift of life

that without cease I give you.

My love,

we have found each other

thirsty and we have

drunk up all the water and the blood,

we found each other


and we bit each other

as fire bites,

leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me,

keep for me your sweetness.

I will give you too a rose.

---Pablo Neruda---



I can still feel him inside me, still feel the incredible heat-power-soul-shattering-combustion of his cock, of his tongue, of the overwhelming rush of his love filling me, lifting me, recreating me anew on wave after turbulent wave of need and fire and ecstasy. I've taken him into my body, bled his soul into mine through the steely length of him pumping into the most secret places of my being, my fingers, my voice, my mouth driving him relentlessly onward, sucking him into me, through me as he cries out savagely, exultantly, from both inside and outside of me--of us--shedding his seed, his essence, the molten core of his spirit in one hot, screaming rush that fills me, drowns me, that goes on forever and yet ends all too soon. And when I've fallen to earth once more, dragged reluctantly back into the world of things that are cold and separate and lonely as the winter wind is lonely--then I find that my body still trembles as though it might fly apart, that my eyes are filled with tears, that my heart is breaking. Broken already--utterly--shattered and blasted and bleeding out within me with every exhausted pulsebeat, with every breath from Jim's heated, sweat-slicked body sagging against mine.

Oh, God, it hurts, this wild emotion, this exalted knowing, this cruel, helpless return to my own isolated corporeal form, to my own desperately lonely physicality, every particle of my being still yearning after oneness, after completeness, even as Jim's essence cools within me and dries on my skin, leaving me desolate. Leaving me.

It can't last, it never lasts; even when he's right here--even when I'm caught up in the unbelievable ecstasy of his body sliding over mine, into mine, taking me, all of me, giving back himself on hoarse cries of love, of lust, of unrestrained need--even then I grieve, even then I mourn. Even then I fear. I found him--after a long, desperate search spanning centuries, lifetimes, universes--I found him, pursued him, made him mine, gave myself to him in return without question, without regret; and now I face the consequences of relinquishing my soul so completely into his keeping, of entering into this holy sacrament of joined flesh, entwined spirits, his breath and will melding seamlessly with my own into one brief, beautiful dream of unfettered freedom, of perfection...but only when we're one in body, only when we're made temporarily whole through the blending of sweat and saliva and semen, of heat and lust and the force of flesh meeting flesh, our mutual need consuming all the skin, bone, and muscle between us, freeing us from the confines of these bodies and annihilating the universe around us as we float, lost and satiated and completely unheeding, somewhere far beyond the destruction we've left in our wake.

Each time he loves me like this, his touch, his breath making me cry out with joyful surprise, with the fierce possessiveness of the bond growing ever stronger between us...each time I also face the torturous dissolution of that perfect liberation; each time afterwards we both suffer the unbearable agony of being pitched headlong from paradise back into the pit, our anguished soul-cries of protest lost in the howling rush of the cold, cold wind that hurls us both back to earth, slamming us down still entwined together but terribly apart, as well. The pain is immense, the loss unfathomable; and yet always I wait eagerly for the next opportunity to fly and burn and fall again, to soar and BECOME and then to lose that moment of inexpressible completeness in the inelegant tumble back into this heavy, lonely body. Looking into Jim's eyes as we fall back into ourselves, broken and aching, is like looking into the eye of God, into the secrets of time and of eternity and of the ultimate meaning of all that exists between us, of all that forms the fabric of existence.

And as Jim slips out of the welcoming cradle of my body now, the frantic, syncopated pounding of our hearts stuttering mournfully back into dissonance, into aloneness, into the heavy dullness of blood and frailty and sorrow--I can only wrap my arms tightly, so tightly, around his broad chest as I press my face into the rock-solid wall of muscle there and feel him shudder soundlessly against me, his body wracked by sobs of fast-fading spiritual ecstasy, his grasping, desperate arms crushing me into an embrace that seeks to hold Everything but comes away with nothing, nothing more than an armful of solitary humanity, of the mortality and imperfection that is me. And I know he cries because I've wounded him, because I've offered him no more than this tiny taste of all that should be but inexplicably isn't...because I've overwhelmed his soul with the insatiable thirst for the waters of eternity, for the rich, sacred blood of perfect unity across all that was and is and ever shall be. And I don't know how to quench his thirst, how to transport the waters of eternal, unbreakable oneness here to this place of weariness and sadness, here to this cold plane of separations and misunderstandings and the forgetfulness of all that is holy, of all that is true.

I kiss him now, first with small, frantic nips and licks as tiny mews of grief and longing spill from my lips to sink down into his skin; then, as he moans against me I open wider, sucking and biting and excising the bits of bitter sorrow I've driven into his flesh as he strains to hold us together, to keep at bay the harsh reality of a world where every soul is separate and alone, so alone, lost in the desperation of wanting something unnameable, of craving something vital that lies always just beyond reach.

I love you, he mouths to me, his eyes telling me he knows it isn't enough, that three words formed in silence and in sorrow can never begin to describe the unity that transcends all of this, that makes of this earth a formless phantom, an illusion. So he gives up, as one or both of us always does, and his eyes slide closed in mute defeat as he presses his forehead to mine, the soft, mournful cadence of his respirations puffing warm against my eyelashes, heating the tears that lie poised so treacherously just behind my closed eyelids. And his breath is fragrant with the scent of roses, a remnant of paradise still clinging to his lips as he presses them to my eyes in silent reverence, in benediction. Almost I can feel us flying once again, almost I can remember how it is to become completely one with him, to join my soul to his and dance in perfect union upon the ceaseless, ever-expanding waves of eternal light and freedom that beckon us always nearer, always closer, every time we love. Every time we love...

My eyes fly open now, lashes brushing like startled butterflies against the warm pressure of Jim's lips hovering just above them; and as he gazes down at me with a gentle question shining in the depths of his clear blue gaze, I search deep within my soul for the sense of absence, of desolation, that so often sweeps through me when my lover's seed has spent itself within my body, leaving behind only the salty aftertaste of the brief melding of our spirits. It's there now as it always is, that feeling of loneliness at having withdrawn once more into my own head, into dark corridors and secret avenues where Jim cannot follow; but this time the pain is less, the agony just this side of survivable. This time I can see pieces of my own soul floating in Jim's contemplative gaze; and as our vision melds, his pupils dilate with sudden shock at what he sees in my blue eyes.

"Yes," I whisper, my lips curving upward into a smile of quiet joy, my hands reaching with shaky reverence to caress the strong angles of his beautiful, sensitive face. "Yes, Jim; do you see yourself now, here inside me?"

"Blair..." he breathes, his voice trembling, his arms beginning to shake so much that he can no longer hold his own weight above me. But it's all right; it's glorious, I need this, need the pressure of his body on mine, the half-joyful, half-fearful tracing of his blunt fingers across my cheeks, my jaw, around my tear-filled, shining eyes. I need for him to SEE, to KNOW, to fly here with me even on the ground, even here in our bed, to experience the heaviness of our flesh and then feel it fall away, discarded, as our souls surge from behind our eyes and remember all that is true. We are frail and wounded; we are limitless and whole. And as Jim absorbs me into himself through the power of his senses, I am content to melt and flow and be absorbed, to launch my soul out into the vast reaches of the universe and to find him there waiting for me, the two of us forever part and parcel of one seamless, perfect whole. There is no absence, no distance; there is only unity, only one. We are forever; we are golden. We are home already, already free.