He stands there, just out of reach, my beloved.
No. My unknowing beloved. Futile, this love, for how could he know? I've never whispered a word of my love. Never uttered a sound to express how I long to be with him, how I yearn for his warm tongue to caress me, for his hot mouth to engulf me.
Perhaps it is unnatural of me to desire him. It is a doomed love, after all, a one-sided one. I see how he gazes on the Other, how his liquid eyes follow every movement made by the one he calls Partner. My heart shatters to see it, because I know he will never be mine. We are too different; I know this, but the truth leaves a bitter taste. How could his hot-blooded passion and my cold-blooded reserve exist side by side? They cannot. My inhibitions are too strong; it is my nature to withdraw, to protect myself. To protect my fragile heart.
I fear I would succumb to the heat of his wet mouth and be destroyed utterly.
Though perhaps it would be worth it just to know, for that moment, how much I was desired.
He's looking at me again, his gaze piercing, but... can it be he knows? He moves closer -- oh, yes, come closer, my beloved! I love you, I love you, I cry, but he cannot hear me. He is deaf to my yearnings. He is blind to my love.
He stares at me, just beyond my reach, that glorious mouth slack, his breath fogging the glass that separates us. His tongue snakes out, leaving a slick swipe across the transparent barrier.
No. There is no future in this yearning. We are, after all, natural enemies.
redchance @ aol.com
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