Switch on your senses.Switch off the light.

Let me tell you what it is like in the darkness, where there is no light and I must rely upon my senses to see you.

My senses are heightened by the knowledge that you are as real as one’s reality can offer, perhaps more so. It is this understanding of your physical being that invokes a longing I cannot defy. I must try. I must make the effort to see you, though I know I will not really see you with these eyes. 

I have brown eyes, big brown eyes, expressive eyes that always give my true intentions away because they do not know how to lie. But, I can see you, none-the-less, through the darkness and through tears I cry.

I have heard your voice ringing in my head like a divine bell calling me to come and kneel before you – I do not kneel, but if the calling has its way, I will be put to my knees as if praying for someone or something to save me before I blow away like sands taken up by the breezes of lies and deceit that I am always aware of and, yet, cannot battle the hordes of manipulators that come for me, most of all – the one who holds me here, waiting.

I can smell you, first the wondrous fragrance of a cologne that always captures my attention and hold it still and deep as I inhale over and over again, afraid to exhale, that it will disappear and I would be left with the memory of that delightful and seductive aroma. Then, beneath that is the scent of you – the pheromones charged with desire that manifests into another image of you; a hologram of sorts. 

What I see surprises me, I react with a sense of immediacy and without permission – I touch you. My hand over your heart, beneath a bare chest, feeling it beating and knowing you certainly are real. I quickly remove my hand as if the touch had burned. And, burned it did. It has burned an image of you in my mind that I cannot undo and will certainly leave a scar to remind me of this moment forever.

It will join other scars, some good, some bad, some horrific, some so filled with happiness – what your scar becomes will be up to you. I realize I am helpless now.

Then, I stood tall and could feel your breath upon me. I am cradled in your breathing. You pull me close and I speak, “I must now taste you and it will be complete.” You allow it, you desire it, you welcome it and I can sense it. I kiss the palms of your hands that will catch me someday. I kiss your arm which will hold me someday. I kiss your mouth which will say unbelievable words to me – and I will believe once more. I slowly extend my tongue to lick your face. First, your lips, your chin, your cheek, your eyes and your ears. I now have a complete vision of you, fore I have tasted you on the outside but truly experienced you on the inside.

In the darkness, there is no absolutes, perhaps you are nothing but a dream, a fantasy created by my imagination because I need you so much. I will never know. I am busy waiting. I am on hold. I am not existing. I am not real. I cannot be anything to anyone, because the darkness has me held tight. But, the light is coming. The light is coming.

Let me tell you what it is like in the darkness, where there is

no light and I must rely upon my senses to see you.

M Teresa Clayton

THE HOURGLASS

The granules drop, one by one, until the counting is finally done. Then we turn it over, once again – as if we had another chance… to begin. The hourglass, two globed balanced equally by a short passageway. Time will pass, and in a glance, one will forget to turn it and lose the day.

The constant movement of the sand from one imaginary orb to the other – the amusement of it’s accuracy as the silenced sands of time absorb the measure of another – the sand lost ‘neath the sand, unaware of reason’s command to count the second, the minutes, the hour, only amounts to what reckons the limits of your own power.

She is left holding the hourglass, watching the time pass, slowly hypnotized by its movement, the cadence memorized; a wicked inducement capturing ones mind in a pseudo-rapturing where sanity is impossible to find.