A fleeting love in february !

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Poem written by Dr.A.R aka Lecinqblog.
This is copyrighted material,
PLEASE DO NOT REPRODUCE OR USE without prior written permission from A.R
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Just before I go to sleep,
Just like that,
I learn to sexually respond in my mind to a new man.
Another man,
Even older,
than the previous one,
the previous one?
I rebuked for being too old,
for me to pursue!
This new one ?
comparitively anciently older,
and yet !
The mental orgasm ;
That the old monster was able to give me,
I am able to experience it anew,
With a newer man,
A newer but more ancient man.

This february night,
in the month of valentine,
Just before I go to sleep,
For a few minutes,
I imagine myself looking into this man's deep emotionally loaded eyes,
too much emotion in him,
it is always that way as I notice,
too many times i have seem him start talking about something from the past,
Very dear to his heart,
And he almost starts to well up in tears,
I think that it is this side of his,
the childlike emotional side of an old man,
not ashamed to go there to places in his mind,
places that cause him to want to cry,
but he stops short of actually crying each time.

I think it is "pity love" yet again,
why is it always that ,with me,
pity evokes far more love in me for people,
then , then,
the "pity love" transforms into a motherly "taking in",
like you take a crying child to your bosom,
"taking in" of his soul into mine,
our souls color each other,
And soon the unconditionality of takin in someone and their soul,
allows me to sexually react to them,
but only,but only
if the time and person is appealing to me in other ways too.

So, now,
on a february night,
the month of valentine,
just before I go to sleep,
All i can think of ,
is him.

His stories,
His emotion filled stories,
His juvenile body language when he is all of 48,
His broad face,
a face that immediately reflects what he feels.

He is not afraid to show on his face exactly how he feels,
His playfulness,
how good he wears those shirts,
men who look good in dress shirts have always caught my sexual eye.no?

His skin that tans ever so easily,
making it go clayily bronze after days of sun,
strangely and newly I realize,
I am attracted to his bronze hue.

The square jaw,
The strong jaw,
the way he pops things into his mouth and
noisily bites into them,
the strong jaw.

I mutter under my breath,
The way he wields things with his left hand,
something so sexy about deft lefthanded men,no?
(of which too many are around me these days,)
(too many left handed old men around me !)

And then, for some reason,
I keep muttering under my breath,
"But he is so handsome,oh, but he is so handsome"
I repeat that over and over,
under my breath,
every single time I see him.

"aww,truly,how can he be so handsome?"
over and over,
as if in wonderment,
that I actually find him handsome.

I stare at him closer,
to find out why I find him so handsome.
I stare somemore ,
just to verify if i really find him handsome.
Am I talking myself into it?
I stare some more each time,
just to make sure this is a spontaneous thing,
this attraction i feel for a face and a person.

I suspect the attraction is for the persona,
so I squint and stare some more,
to see if he is really handsome,
or am I talking myself into this?
I mutter under my breath yet again,
"oh,but why do I find him so handsome?"

This night,
finally,
on this night of february,
the month of valentine,
it happened,
the mental orgasm.

Just as I get ready to sleep,
all tucked up in the buff ,
under my comfy blanket,
in the dark,
I look up at the ceiling and all I can utter is,
"oh, but why so much emotion..why, come here"

I am only imagining all this,
yet it feels real,
much like telepathic love,which is true,
but I seldom imagine such stuff in a sexual manner,
it has to happen spontaneously,out of the blue,
very rarely does it cross over,
from the "reaching-out" to a person ,
to,getting all sexual about it in my head.

So,in february,
the month of valentine,
As I lay down,
I ask him,in my imagination,
as I imagine, he is right there on the bed with me,
and I ask him to be over me
and then I look into his eyes,
as he is heavy on me,
"but why my dear, why so much emotion, why?"
I know I am crossing the pity-love-threshold ,when ,
I start using phrases like "come here" in scenarios.

A simple moment,
a moment in my mind,
but an orgasmic effect on my brain and body,
and then,
the sexual relief from the mind to the body,
Allows me to sleep deep that night.

The next day,
yet another day in february,
the month of valentine,
a whole day of actually saying niblets of my thoughts to him.
I do so ,
because I want to empty my thoughts of him.
I tell him things,
so that I can purge all thoughts of him.

I tell him things in succession,
all eager to empty my mind,
I tell him all this,
barely expecting him to respond,
I don't want him to respond.

I say things in quick succession
I don't want to give him time to respond,
I want to say and bolt before he can react,
I just want to empty my mind,
I want to tell him what I think of him,
then move on.

So,I tell him things,
and then run away before he can react.
I half expect him NOT to pay attention,
I fully hope he doesn't react,
I just want to say and run away,
I DON'T want us to get involved,
but yet ,I want to say my mind,
so ,I say them,like a bravado youngin.

I say and say,
then I run away,
and then,
as night arrives,
weary body lies down to sleep,
in all its nakedness under a cool blanket.

And yet another night of february,
the month of valentine,
I get ready to go to sleep,
Partly playing out all the lines I had told him that day,
well thought out honest lines,
lines that were meant to unburden my soul,
I feel bad that I feel so much for yet another OLD man.

So,before I go off to sleep,
on yet another night of february,
the month of valentine,
I mutter under my breath,
in the dark,
under the blanket,
"I MUST STAY AWAY,I MUST VOLUNTARILY withdraw from this"

This is like an ultimatum I give myself,
I make a FIRM mental note to myself,
I say this to protect myself from yet another old man,
I need a young man,
I don't need an old man,
I am too young to be with an old man.
I mutter under my breath,
"I must nip this in the bud !".

Then I mutter some more
"Stop this before it goes too far"
Then some more,
"You are the one who will lose out again"
"Don't pursue this!"
"stop!"
"stop before you pursue this!".

Then I know,
I AM DEEP INTO THIS,
emotionally and mentally,
sexually more so than anything,
but sexual is nothing but emotional and mental put together.

Even before it begins,
I know,
I must get out before it gets deeper,
any deeper.

So,this night in february,
the month of valentine,
I turn over my bed,
to lay on my side
and stare at the wall and
mutter under my breath,
"You must learn to protect yourself"
"Protect yourself BEFORE the damage happens"
"I must withdraw!"
and then I go to sleep.

The next day morning,
I am surprised to find a note from him,
shucks!
I DIDN'T want him to respond,
I didn't
oh no,
on no,
"oh my gosh, he is getting into the well too!".

The cool waters of the well,
that I inadvertantly got into,
the waters that I wanted to wade for a wee bit in,alone.
I wanted to do so alone ,
And then get out of the well,
oh no,
Why did he get into the well as well?

Severe panic,
because I was there in the well,
already swimming alone in the cool dark waters,
alone and swimming in the well I was,
singing praises of him from my soul,
and then he hears my songs.

He has sharp ears,
eager sharp ears looking to hear solemn songs,
so he notices and hears,
he peeps into the well.

What he sees is a pretty maiden,
"Strong eloquent maiden this one,swimming in a well?"he thinks.
"singing all but songs about me?" he asks,
Then, just like that,with ease,
he gets into the well too.
and then he just jumps into the well too?
oh,but why?

I dread,
because this a well,
it is cool and calm,
but yet,it is dark and deep,
and there is no going anywhere from here.

It is a well,
it is not a river or ocean,
it is a well,
quickly but surely,
one of us needs to get out.
This is what I wanted to withdraw from.

So, I swim uncomfortably while he is also in the well,
the loud free songs I was singing before,
they now trail away.

I stop short to think to myself,
"what do I do?"
"do i abruptly get out?"
"should I just swim with him here for a bit?"

But,this is a well,
this is not a river,
Rivers go to the sea,
wells go nowhere!
There is no going anywhere with this.

Then,out of an impuslive whim,
I decide,
I decide to continue,
to sing out all the songs I wrote for him,
empty my songs into the well while I am still here.

I decide I will empty myself completely,
before I get out of this well.
So,I sing yet another song,
he listens intently,
yet another song,
he listens intently some more,
We never talk,
I sing, he listens.

Then suddenly,
I feel the need to explain to him why I sing this way.
This sudden explanation causes him to react strangely!

A strange reaction that.
Maybe he didn't expect me to explain?
Maybe he didn't want me to explain?
Maybe he wanted me to just sing.

The strange reaction causes me to stop singing anymore,
I still had a few songs left in me for him.
I wanted to sing out all of them before I left,
but his strange reaction stifled my songs.

Now,there are a few songs left residually in my soul,
and I don't like that!
I don't like residues!
His strange reaction surprised me,
It opened up a self-doubtful-part of his heart to me.

Projection never appeals to me,does it?
So, I am baffled by his strange reaction.
So,suddenly,I am hurt and stifled,

I doubt,
I stop singing,
I get out of the well for a bit.
I sit at the bankment of the well,
deep in contemplation.

He is still in the water,
I wonder why.
I don't notice him much anymore,
it is getting darker,
no real saying if anyone is in the water or not.

I sit at the bankment for a bit,
then I walk around,
doing chores,
thinking and rethinking my songs.

Oh but,
maybe my songs are all stupid,
maybe I imposed myself too much,
no more songs,
no more songs.

But,I,
but, I
but,
no tears yet.

He clearly felt imposed upon,
okay,no more songs,
no more songs for him,
no more.

Yet another night in february,
the month of valentine,
I get off to a fitful sleep,
dark soul in darkness,
silence and sadness.

I wake up the next day,
I run to the well,
too dark in the dawn to see,
looks like no one is there in the water.

I decide to get once more into the water,
one last time,
to leave a parting note for him,
a tiny little lotus flower,
a goodbye present.

I leave a note, no songs this time,
just a note,
saying I won't sing any more songs,
the parting gift of a lotus.

Then I leave,
I am not sure,
I walk back in self doubt,
it was dawn in the dark,
what if he was still in the water,
wanting to swim,
swim with me.

I left in the dark of dawn,
not wanting to return to that well again,
not wanting to sing any more songs,
no more songs for him.

Burdened by some residual songs ,
that were left unsung,
I have a heavy heart.

No tears yet,
yet another february evening,
the month of valentine,
fitful sleep,
no tears yet.

I mutter under my breath,
"I should not have imposed to BOLDLY"
I mutter somemore,
"I read signals all wrong"
"I impose myself on others,"
"Me and my stupid need to sing soul songs"

Yet another february night,
the month of valentine,
I drift into extremely fitful sleep.

Next day comes,
I don't even go to the well,
Then,by afternoon,
too burdened by my unsung songs,
I go to the well.

I am taken by surprise to find something there,
to see,
another colored lotus,
waiting for me?
"He left a lotus for me?"

I see a strange shadow of a man,
over at the distant other edge of the embankment,
stretching out his hand ,
to what seems like a reflection.

He doesn't realize there is no one else inside the well,
I was not in the water,
but he thinks the reflection is me in person,
so he stretches out his hand,
to my reflection in the water.

While in that very minute,
in that very minute,
when I am admiring the lotus he left for me,
he is stretching out his hand to my reflection in the water.

He probably had been waiting for hours since dawn,
And while in the afternoon,
just as I arrive at the well,
admiring the lotus,
he had already waited for hours by then.

Just as I realize what has happened at the well,
in those few hours of my absence from it,
I am slightly reluctant to get right into the water,
but his lotus present for me,
it makes me burst into tears,
aaaah,tears,
tears finally!


And,I am still reluctant,
to get into the water,
I CAN'T join him,
This will get far too deeper for me to handle.

If we openly join hands this way ,
people will see,
I can't do this,
I can't do this with him,
the old man.

I can't get into this water,
I can't.
While I am struggling to decide,
his outstretched hand aches in anticipation.
yet,
I can't decide.

This is far too tough for me,
The decision is very dilemma-inducing,
some tears,then silence,
Mind is racing,
but he is waiting with an outsretched hand,
yet,and still!

Can't let a courageous man alone and waiting,
in the waters of the well,
The well that I beckoned him into with my songs.
yet,can't decide.

My songs were innocent and un-scheming,
I didn't expect or want him to get into the well,
but given that he is what he is,
the man who does what he feels,
he just had to jump into the well.

I am suddenly reminded of his strange reaction,
I pull back,
why did he say hurtful things?
and then.
why did he turn around and leave me a lotus?

He now swims there waiting ,
with an outstretched hand,
he has been waiting for hours now.
And,as the afternoon sun pierces the water of the well,
and heats it up,
he is waiting,
and I am sitting at the banks of the well,
clutching the lotus left for me by him.

I CAN'T DECIDE,
So, I decide to find another lotus,
to give it back to him.
I take a walk,
in search of a new lotus for him,
And in much reluctance,
when I return to the well,
HE IS GONE!

His lotus is gone too,
The lotus that I had sat there clutching for a bit,
that is gone too!

Strangely,
I am suddenly relieved,
not needing to respond anymore,
not feeling the pressure to reach out to his hand.

All i wanted was to sing songs in a well,
alone,
for a bit.

Now ,I am sitting at the bank of the well,
with a few residual songs in my soul,
burdening my soul,
him having left the well.

I can see his watery footprints walking away,
his lotus is gone too,
surely,
I can follow his watery footprints and find him?

BUT I WON'T,
I won't,
The residual songs remain unsung ,
my soul is a slightly heavy one now.

But,I am not following his footprints,
I NEED him to go ,
I don't want him to come to the well,
I WON'T come to this well,
the lotuses will be left alone.

No more songs too,
and I DON'T want an old man,
I NEED A YOUNG MAN,
I don't want an old man.

Now and again,
I have this urge to sing out his songs ,
no new songs come up in my mind,
it is only those residual songs,
that never got sung,
they want to come out sometimes.

Then,suddenly,
I remember his first initial strange reaction,
and then,
I WITHDRAW,
no more songs for us,
no more swims in the well,
no more holding hands,
no more exchanging lotuses.

I WAIT FOR the watery footprints to dry out,
leaving no trace of his path,
I have a vague idea,
of the direction of where he went,
but I WON'T GO THERE.

A fleeting love of february is better left alone!


Tags:love,Mr_T,love_songs,lotus,gifts,soul_songs,residual,unrequited,unsung_songs,well,swimming_in_a_well,reaching_out,letting_go,love_that_is_not_meant_to_be,