May I Just Be A Simpleton In Love??
You told me to go slow...yet, I couldn't but go any slower from the very beginning of our wrinkled old story. It was never my fault that we had never touched, not even once. You said you like to know a person as deep as you could, before your body would be inspired to expose the last border line into the mystery of beyond just a chemical reaction of the physical.
When my skirt hitched a little too high above my knees, you squirmed and distanced your body from mine. I could not deny that it was true I felt my lust for you; and especially I could read the reaction of your body to it, a little bit too clearly for you to be comfortable in confessing to it.
You had never said that I was not "the one", but you liked to analyse and determine everything to pieces just beyond my patient listening: I thought often that it was a shame you only wished to use your mouth to seek communication with words, instead of getting to know mine and the desire i had always known you felt deep inside your gut.
You said that i was too much of an exhibitionist of words, that words were not only a tools for information, as in deliberated gossips. You said that the reason language was invented was to reach a common objective of the spirit via metaphores: You said that the only way to uncover and reveal The Mystery of the muted universe was to bend articulation like a prism bent a shaft of light waves and particles; You also said that I was too impatient and seemed to kill all the magic of the process of getting close to the soul of another. You deemed me a pragmatist, while You said everything, deep down in the core of Existence itself, could only be felt by monitoring words to unveil the vagueness of life as a miracle being denied by the effort to make clear everything. You often accused me as a murderer of the fact that the substance of life had always been necessarily illusive.
I fear, my dear, that the fortress of words you have always busying building around your body is to hide the fact that you are just plain scared of the heat of lust you cannot stop down below the realm of need. But I can feel it, and I am watching how you sidestep the dance when your mind meets the lust of your physical self. In a way, you are right even when you are wrong, that too much thoughts can prevent the smooth flow of physical sensations. Don't you know, my dear, that the mind sometimes must yield, in order to learn about the body? One of these days, your words are going to be mumbling while you allow your lips to taste the knowledge of love: first hand knowledge is very frightening, isn't it my thinker..??
...And yet, I am fascinated by your effort to be true to your mind...I will be patiently waiting for your sorting out a way to bridge your mind with your body...So, I hold on to Rosmarie Waldrop's words in her "Feverish Propositions": "...there could be no seduction if the structures of propositions did not stand in a physical relation, so that we could get from one to the other. Even so, not every moment of happiness is to hang one's clothes on...(or) do notes follow because drawn to a conclusion? If we don't signal our love, reason will eat our heart out before it can admit its form of mere intention, and we won't know what has departed."
