Numb Kisses Leave Marks

“You don’t feel anything.” She sadly fleshed out in the darkly lit club. Half-naked women prancing around looking for weather men’s arousal buttons, jangly wobbly bits divining the temptation game on both sides of the gender gap. She rests on my shoulder a divided woman, looking for a good man and using him all the same, tricks must be played for the treats of life. And I’m bagless; I’ve given up the struggle and plight to coast on swaying seas awaiting senility and the peace of not remembering. I feel her warmth, the supple skin of a young hopeful always finding disappointment in most men, here she lies with a mild man seeking softness and touch but none of the relations. I am fond of her, she elicits some unremarkable response from tingling skin, sensations still hanging on a droopy Botticelli bodice; gay and maudlin, elated and deflated, every phase of a red red balloon, 99 not 69.

Those pouted lips glide across my memory banks, once girlish, next that of a hurt woman. She holsters anger as she passes me with some unknown man swaggering along the sidewalk, gives that fateful turn with the raw pain and shock of my distance, cold empty face upon the meaningless drapery of our chance meeting. What did anything mean then? I was lilting on a crazy cloud amid the stares. Searching for happiness in wrong places, dumps and dives revisited for the experience, the Socratic knowing of all society, the triumphs and tramps abounding me restlessly. I understand what I cannot want, what has left me as I am, wandering soul content with the lesser love. Numb kisses and empty hugs.

I meet more pretty ones down the line and same feeling nonfeeling stands up and takes rollcall. Acceptance. I tempt some flirtation to bang against the humdrum but I offer them nothing to gird against the future withdrawal, why be a jerk and pretend. But all those lovely ones dance and whisper in my head especially in the late night as I lay naked to the truth, pondering a recall that I expect will lease some wisdom. Become frigid in prime of life only to like the icy self and partake in other ventures of existing. Asexual teddy bear welcoming warmth and affection.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s