A Hymn to Him

He and I.
He and I part so easily, just a wave and a smile and on to the next thing. Today I felt the steps up to our kind of love like soggy hills and valleys. Push the beds closer, so good, I can’t get enough.
Into a repetitive motion, when will it end, with no oil found and no goal in sight? Energy has limits, he and I discover.

He and I part ways with a slap each time, I to his ass, playfully, he to my face, insulted, tired of me. I get tired of myself with him, but I love his long locks, his lovely looks.

Oh, he and I just get food together sometimes, as friends. No, really.
When weren’t we friends?
There was that awkward moment in our conversation:
“They have these Christmas lights on B---- Road…they’re beautiful! They’re shaped like icicles, with the lights cascading down them. They’re sort of…sensual.”
“Sensual? You get turned on by the lights?”
“Maybe.”
“ So you’re like, walking down the street going, ‘Oo look at these hot lights’ like, getting your panties all wet?"
No, not like that. I don’t know what to do with him, but I can’t seem to avoid him.

We.
When we have to part, it’s like all the heat we’ve made together disperses in an instant.
When we have to part, we whisper and listen hard enough to hear each other’s smallest puff of breath. We store our memories. We play the song over and over. We throw bottles into the sea of our desires and break, and break, and break each time.
When my back is turned away from him, I shudder and shiver.