divulgence

(context) As these currents of doubt and memory course through me, I grow deaf and dumb in front of this beauty. Scared, anxious, sick with the smooth bile of insecurity, I am a fool to let this get so far with so little.

In chemical (imaginary) terms, I am chaotic, an unstable mixture of substances that have been too long boiling. And maybe I think these substances should not have intermingled so early and carelessly (trauma). And maybe I worry about their release (orgasm). Sex to me means no control. No "I" in the act. And what's present in my mind is that sex has two eyes (I's) who contribute and give and receive. I am scared to lose myself -- loose -- and I am scared what does or does not happen will absorb all that I am (was). So all I will be after is what let out, what got splayed then sprayed, and washed away. What remnants are strewn on my lover or I, patchwork juices that don't even crochet a blanket of personality. And what can I give -- ? Someone whom I find so beautiful, so amazing -- someone whom I want to glorify with pleasure?

I want to send this to -- (get it out). Out. It's like any minute I will boil over, pour out. And any minute is either a boiling over or a flood from an incision. This imagery never lets up. Where are the tides? Would it help to find, and mark my life by, tides? Mystery. Misery. Hope.