Bloom, 2013  -  Photo: Will Conner

Bloom, 2013  -  Photo: Will Conner

A trick of the clock denies me an unjust reward, a lapsed absence craved, but withheld: a punishment from time itself.

Hate for those twisted hours! Save maybe the fleeting few that anticipate your return. Relief only comes from closed, remembering eyes - witnesses to my fulfilled world, denying time, enticing me closer to the edge of a promise.

In self-inflicted darkness I relive your playful torments, an ecstatic dance of bliss mingles with my perception, creating a slow motion collision of emotion and flesh that never fills the void. Whispered lyrics from the loading music that defined the chasmatic moment fills the air, a moment where creation revealed its secrets by your smile, where the universe trembled with your touch, these are the glories that explode in my mind.

Soft sweeps of your hand overload all senses, pushing between insanity and ecstasy, greed and relief, submission and desperation. Reciprocal giggles race from pillowed lips and the mind races, overwhelmed by the sounds of joy and delight; caught in your snare - rejoicing in the celebration.

Punishment! For every undeserved and stolen second next to you this torment compounds, such is the price. But cherished seconds twist to an eternity of existential bliss, a shield against the pain and horror of the inflicted hours that part us, joy tempered with time goes the sentence from the tick-tock man.

Relapse eventually prevails, always sooner than anticipated, but not without longing and impatient demand. Until then, suffering in quiet desperation with closed eyes always satisfies, if only barely.