5 AM

It’s 5.a.m. and the coitus was a disappointing parade of high expectations and unforeseen flat notes. Hoots and horns with no actual talent filled the space. This ceiling I’m drilling with my eyes is the biggest prize this bedroom has offered since I obliged the offer to sex me. “Lily, close your eyes and sleep away this elephant and when you wake, amnesia will kidnap your mind, and you’ll be free,” is a thought that comes and goes. I am up. There is no coma coming to relieve me from this sobering revelation.

Propped up on my bed, I wonder if the soul of my vagina will survive this bad spell of empty pleasure. My lover is comatose beside me because he got there, and to his right here I am up writing love notes to dreams, missing my ex-lover’s feel, tongue and body entwined with mine.

I knew it, the soul always knows everything and I knew him and I were best left alone. I used to be in a constant state of arousal from the absence of a spiritual lover, I was fine until I swallowed stupidity from countless nips of Svedka that lead to this. He promised me stars and moons with his delicate kisses instead fed me Chinese dumpling from a mexican canteen. I hate dumpling.

How did my vagina and I end up in this mess? When did my best friend become the glitch in my matrix? 

It’s 5 a.m, he is comatose beside me because he got there and to his right, I am up writing love notes to my dreams missing my ex-lover’s feel, tongue and body entwined with mine. 

My spirit is sick from this disappointing expression of emotion. You have ruined me in ways I could never want to ever be ruined. You have killed it. I’ve had to concoct mental solutions for this sad state of affairs of the soul of my vagina. In the quiet of black, I’m wondering how to remedy the void in my hole that has broken my whole.

 

Your breath is an airy force of satisfaction that pleases me because I do love you. I care that you got there even though you left me behind, didn’t even turn your head back to see if I’d catch up. I am the fool who cares. You have retired to a space of recovery from last night’s debauchery. Your hands feel for mine while mine feels for the keys to this machine because when all else fails, you write.

So I write vigorously, passionately and ferociously because that is what I do. I’ve just been fucked and all I need is to be loved hard, destroyed into a billion pieces and spread on my sheets like whipped cream on a french plate, delicate, beautiful and sweet. I need a lover to undo this disaster and reconnect me to what my poetry has prophesied.

It’s 5 a.m, he is comatose beside me because he got there and to his right, I am up writing love notes to my dreams missing my ex-lover’s feel, tongue and body entwined with mine.

I need to leave for work so this matter will have to be packed up, saved in Pages and to be edited later when my favorite company is around, wine.

I quietly slip out the bed, careful not stir you from your dreams.

 

It’s a still, cold morning as I purposely bury last night’s misery with every piece of clothing I put on. Coat last on, I’m ready to move on and never look back. When I get back from work, my home will be an empty abode of comforting solitude, you will still be my best friend and I will still love you. My only private endeavor under pursuit now will be to create a new 5 a.m. because this demon will die if it kills me.

 

I have to chuckle at the incoming text message that vibrates my phone…

Ben: ” Are you coming..?”

The irony…my internal response is “I didn’t.”

                                                                                                                                  THE END.

Michael Kelly