The other you

My handsome, eloquent and loving version of you appears. Always I expect him, always I am never prepared. He saunters in on a thought and glides into a dream…leaving traces everywhere I touch where I long for him to be but he isn’t. He lingers on my breath and comes out as a whisper. Some days are better than others.

My always gentle always courteous you shimmers in the darkness, mesmerizes with infallible loveliness. Perfect in his imperfectness, utterly overrated.

The night is our dwelling place when the music is soft and the air is comforting, awaiting the oncoming dreams. We weave scenarios, script the movement along my soft skin. The moon is my reference point. Mistake incarnate that he is…a short-lived hedonistic descent. The afterthoughts leave me trembling and shaking my head…Some more inappropriate than others.

That other you, that isn’t you emerges almost every night in my room and proceeds to make me swoon. The wordless you writes the most exquisite poetry and I hold onto the night, hating the light of day where thoughts of him, you are so different and should not entwine.

There is no right or wrong in the darkness. Your skin, his skin glows and I am blinded by the momentary brightness. Your morning likeness says more but I like him less. He stares and I take offense.

I cannot imagine my you sneaking off in the morning. Though he is always gone when I wake he is in every moment of darkness that I can steal. You are explanations and un-relationships.
And I resent you both for existing, independently and yet inextricably linked.

My handsome, eloquent version of you appears. Always I expect him, always I am never prepared. He was gone for a while until you returned.