be prepared

The hurricane may bear down hard, the weathermen say. They say that, as they warn us about every storm, because this one will be the one we remember forever.

I have a flashlight now, found it finally, here when the electric is gone. Everything is in order now. Books and blankets and foodstuffs and plywood, shutters shut, as intended for these sorts of days. I’ll boil water before the lights begin to blink, and drink hot tea in my haven as I hear the water come rushing down, the wind beating against the clapboards. I will stay here where I am safe, where I think I am safe.

Be prepared. Be here.

The only safe place is here, you here with me, in my bed. Be prepared, and lie beside me while the weather howls outside.

You are here with your smile and its potential to undo me once more, our clothes fallen to the ground in movements now displaced from the order of our memories. We lie in the aftermath, sheets pulled from corners, blankets on the floor, crumpled pillows retrieved now so we can rest, the bed itself now far from the wall, unhitched from the dock, now drifting quickly out to the turbulence that we know lies ahead.

Here, in your arms, feels safe.

The storms are not even close now, the clarity of the day hides nothing, it seems. I smile. But when I turn away, when I close my eyes even for a moment, I see you, feel the clenching knot in my belly, my tender breasts full, aching. Your far-off touch runs along the borders of my skin, skin shuddering, gripped with the intensity of wanting you.

Clarity, your smooth skin, your open smile betray the forecast. Wait. I wait, anticipate the violence we resist, we avoid. We run, we protect, we prepare, we hide, and we remain never prepared, nevertheless craving meaning, clarity of purpose, seeking, passion, that climax that will destroy us in the making.

It renews us in the grander scheme of things, or so we tell ourselves as we abandon our shelter. It renews us. So the philosophers will say years from now.

Your slick skin glides against mine, your heat, your lips bruise my lips as you kiss me not here, not now, but to mark this, mark me, mark us in this time, this space. We destroy, yes, as your cock slaps against my drenching lips, thrusts open my swollen cunt, takes all of it, destroys all of today, all of me, all of you, all of what I thought was true before now. It is a hurricane, they say, heading here toward us now with gale force winds, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but you, and the fury within you, within me, the force of this moment, this unforgettable storm, today’s treasures scattered debris. And then, not here, not now, the peace beyond, the moment when we awake, when we turn over gently and smile, a smile retrieved, perhaps, never the same smile, tomorrow’s smile.

The wise sea will calm soon, then surge again, then quiet. It always does, sure as summer soon will relinquish the season, as fall rages toward winter, sure as the sunset, the sunrise, sure as desire, my come-filled cunt, your glistening cock, knowing, satiated, and still, once more, wanting.

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