Laughing Medusas

I'd like to envelope you in the soft glow of my mornings. The haze of not quite awake enough to think about you next to me... but enough to know your smell, your voice, your body next to mine. I still dream of you almost nightly. I don't share these dreams with you. They're not the ones that make me blush, they're the ones that make me cry.

Imagining impossibilities is comforting... hoping about a possibility that may exist is excruciating.

You're right. I think too much. But I can't quite feel my way. For now I overanalyze and overthink and look forward to thinking of nothing ... feeling only you.

~Asherah

“Scotch is an old man’s drink, and I’ll take mine with water.” Willow’s voice floats from the CD player.

“I think I will do the same.” I say to myself as much as to the stereo, settling in to my burgundy leather recliner. I used to drink without a chaser, without a mixer, without dilution. Tonight though, I protect my mouth from the full flavor of the drink. The water serving as a level of insulation from something too potent for me to attempt neat. Every drink has been too potent lately.

Thoughts scamper across my mind, and I watch them. Not really discerning one from the next unless they collide. Even then, it is only to see if they merge into one, explode into shards, or simply disintegrate. One thought hovers on the edge, hiding in the shadows. For the first time, I invite it to the foreground and admit it to myself - she is not returning. It’s as though the proverbial light bulb has come on inside my head and the roaches, my inconsequential thoughts, scatter.

I shut my eyes tight against direct light of this epiphany but it still hurts. Opening my eyes slowly, I find I am staring at a small, framed bible quote my mother made for me when I first moved out. “My cup runneth over…” is printed in calligraphy above a rather busty woman.

I look at my cup, and am disgusted by the diluted contents. I empty my cup down the sink and pour the last of the bottle in at full strength. The first sip burns my throat, now unused to the harsh reality of a drink not softened by the rocks.

I realize the song I have been listening to is ending, just in time to hear, “Water’s a lonely drink and so, I’ll just take scotch.”

~Asherah

I move stiffly through the day
Hindered by reminders of you
Arriving in my driveway
As I was just about to sleep

I let you in my house
And deep inside of me
Without hesitation
Right there in the front room
The door slightly ajar

You left me exhausted
Quickly, always so quickly
As only you can

I didn't even turn to say goodbye

I woke naked
Sprawled on the floor
Face down where you left me
The door still slightly ajar

I thought perhaps I made this up
A story crafted while touching myself

That wouldn't quite explain the rugburns

~Asherah

Sometimes it has been all I had left
More often it has been my downfall

I stand bleeding
Wondering
I could show these wounds
And pray that you'll kiss me healed
Or dress them discreetly
As I quietly walk away

The force of your
Perceived indifference &
Apparent apathy
Knocks the wind out of me

I drop to the floor
Paralyzed by the lack of oxygen
Paralyzed by the recent lack of you
Gasping for either

I know that I alone will lick these wounds
I just wish I knew if you could see them
From where you sit inflicting them


~Asherah

I went with him today... shared places and experiences with him that you and I will never share. My skin feels tight from sunburn and salt crystals left behind by the sweat that was flowing off me in streams less that an hour ago. I realize I am in dire need of a shower, and I think of you.

We traveled far today, he and I. Shedding articles of clothing as milestones were passed. It was no surprise that I thought of you in every place I wanted to be held or sneak a kiss. These are intimacies I do not share with him. I relate the scent of my sweat to you, even though it was he who evoked it... so recent and yet already fading. Memories of him dissipate quickly as I create fantasies involving you. My legs still trembling from the exhaustion he induced. Yet, my tired body wants only to find refuge in your arms.

Loneliness sends me in search of company, but perhaps I would be better off alone. I fear these indulgences of desire may prevent me from obtaining what I truly want.

Will you at least let me explain (before) you go?

~Asherah