An Absolutely Perfect Presence

I see, in she strides, the white-clad love of my life sweet lover not my wife, the aether air too thick to breathe as always, eternal, she, almost maternal her final word a judgment of her will. Why stay? Be still? To clarify peculiarities, solely, she comes, and certainly she will again, no change; the same. All those minutes, hours, convolutions of the brain, left with the stain emitted all remembered – all the same – redone again. now? Why? Satiated that depth of lustfulness engorged with passion. “You’re still as beautiful, to me,” she states, and thoughts of delighting her inflicted me through every pore as she sprayed Obsession here, but mostly there. . . (there’s no elegant way of showing this, unforgettable.) How herculean is the strength of emotion, of devotion knowing one or the other can save lamb from the slaughter the drowned from the water and the “she” and “I” that forms a “we” creates an absolutely present perfect entity.