Aftermath of Lovemaking

So, in the aftermath of lovemaking, one’s thoughts come tumbling into one’s head in the rhythm of one’s panting to catch one’s breath:

This is
the man I love
This is
The man I love
This is
The man I love
I love men but
This is
The man I love

And as you hold each other tightly, catching your breaths, there is a comfort and knowledge and amazement of the fact you are holding this extraordinary person in your arms, and it’s not that Single Girl desperation to have somebody, anybody, fill that space next to you in bed that is normally void, and it’s not that Lost Boy desperation to have somebody watch over me. Its calm and its confident and its happy and content to just be exactly where you are at that particular minute.

This is
The man I love
This is
The man I love

Lost in that mantra, one sees angels, and dragons, and aliens, and rainbows. One’s mind becomes aligned with the Universe, and one starts to understand that line between the past and the future and vaguely getting the concept that they are all one long moment and only human perception makes time seem linear. One touches the holy, the divine, the spark, and for those brief few moments inside your own head, you understand it all, and what it’s all for, even if you know you can never, ever explain it with any level of competency.

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