Unrequited love. Unequal exchange.

The Dreaming

The colour of his name was cold on your tongue. Synths rang on in your head as you sat in your kingdom of duvets watching his face in muted Technicolor. Even through the sonic and the sweat, his face was apparent.

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All you had ever wanted was here; half empty glasses of translucent liquid, unfinished cigarettes neither of you wanted (stubbed out in glass ashtrays) and a faint smell of regret. It was a place you had often been, albeit in the reality of your thought. But in pastel palettes it animates so differently; his pupils wider - skin paler - than the way you imagined. Less words spoken. Less intentions acted on.
 
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Returning to the lie of it all, you accidentally put your leg over his, pretending he asked you to. The half-life between asleep and awake makes it almost believable. Answering: his coils around yours, with a grunt. Under the blanket something takes your hand and pulls it over his abdomen; you close the gap and the room breathes; the tension lifts, as arms cross and lips meet neck. Back in the old position: abdomen on back, palm on navel as you breathe a sutra of wanting over his shoulders. 
 
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He whispers something you don’t quite catch, as more of you is pulled into sleep with each second. A few of them pass by, each different lengths; some huddle together and make minutes, others scurry quickly off before they even arrive. Grunting once more, and with invisible finesse; he inverts and his face now stalks yours, wide-eyed and asking. Laying still as your eyes bicker, their arguments almost audible. 
 
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Led by subconscience, your head finds itself creeping to his, till you’re close enough to taste the calm panting of his sacred breath on your lips. At this distance, lie becomes truth; at this distance, it’s all gold. You both exist for a while in purgatory, the station between knowing and unknowing, as his 8-ball eyes look on.
 
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Off-guard, you don’t notice as your noses slide past one another, until his lids descend in sync with your own, and his pulse is on your mouth. They remain twins as your faces melt together in a crucible of lust. He opens first, and your life drains through a ruby mouth mouth.
 
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And only night looks on; forgotten by morning - two boys exchanging an unequal exchange.
 
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But when the dust settles, You are King
 
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An Insatiable ruler
 
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Of Insatiable things


Submitted: January 07, 2014

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