afterburn

No note today per se, just sharing a poem I wrote about seven years ago. It is called Afterburn.

The flick of a switch.
Random and unexpected.
Sadness engulfs me towards the end
of what seemed on the surface
to be a pleasant enough evening.
Maybe just not ready for it –
the idle banter;
the flutter of eyelashes;
pushing the flirting overdrive.

Suddenly need comforting.
What is wrong with this picture?
I should be over the grief.
Subtle reminders
leave me cold and lifeless.

I am torn between seeking comfort
with a friend I trust
or riding the grief alone.
He is there
and seems willing
to let me depend on him.

The flick of a switch.
Accidental and sudden.
The moment I hold his hand
our fingers intertwine.

A snapshot moment of intimacy.

I do not mean to make anything of it
but his warmth washes over me.
Tenderness in his strong arms,
hands stroking to soothe me
and drive away my sadness.

The flick of a switch.
Casual and bewildering.
In an instant I need to feel his skin.
It is a different feeling to wanting him.
It is like a natural extension
of comfort that I crave.

Will it serve that purpose?
It is a fine line between wanting
and needing this intimacy.

The moment comes and goes.

The flick of a switch.
Inspired yet unsatisfied.
We are back in a world of normal.
I am relaxed that moments like these
should have no regret in them.

And I wish that
the afterburn of my grief
is not what drove the moment.