Our love was one lived in darkness. Every night I would come to your bed and you'd turn the lights off before I could barely get a look at
you. Oh, I saw you plenty of times in the
light, but never when our bodies were moving together, beating as one, and never when my lips wrapped through yours, making
haunting circles of kisses.
No, we were so very
proper at day. Little touches here and there, your arm about me as we walked, but nothing that made my heart beat fast like the things we did in the
dark.
I loved the light of morning those couple of times we still lay
naked by then. I loved to look at your
hands and your lips. They attracted me in so many ways. I think I decided to try this affair the night we sat in that
restaurant, surrounded by friends, the memory of your kiss some weeks ago still lingering with me, and all I could do was stare at the loveliness that was your
mouth till I couldn't see anyone else, and the table grew quiet to my deaf ears, as I sat there immersed in your
lips. And your lips and your hands made such words…
Now
this affair is over and I try to think of what you looked like. Sometimes I can't do it. There are distinct little memories here and there, portraits in tiny
vignettes. I picture your mouth from that night in that little restaurant. I can see the smile you gave me one night before
I kissed you, and then darted around to see if anyone was looking. But all my memories are touch and sound, sounds emitted from touching and the feel of
your hair in my hands. I wake in the dark humming hours of the night and see your
ghost still in my memory, no brighter through the darkness than you had ever been in my life, peered at always through layers and layers of
night. I try to connect those sounds and those feelings with my
visions of you by day. But our love was one lived in darkness. And that is how it shall stay in my memory.