Cry for Me

I sit up to look at her. Lying like a child, newborn. Reborn. Naked in the white sheets. She looks beautiful like no other. And vulnerable like a lost child. I wonder how I got so lucky. I wonder when was the last time I felt so happy.



With the tip of my finger I just traced her spine. Lightly. So as to not disturb her. She sighed in her sleep and instinctively locked her index finger with mine. My heart swelled with uncontrollable love. And I felt a growing desire to have her again.



She cried today, while we made love. It’s her first time with another man since after he left her. As I intertwined my fingers with hers, I felt a strange elation. Of being the only man in her life now that he was gone. And then she cried again. They were the tears of pain. And joy. Both at the same time. They were the tears of her past. And the tears of her future.



It literally kills me to imagine her with him. I wonder if she gave herself to him with the same joy and inhibition. She opens her eyes at that precise moment and my heart turns to jelly. She has beautiful eyes. Ones that contain all the pain of the world. All the wisdom of the world. And sometimes her eyes talk to me. Whirlpools of black mystery.



I stroke her hair, and her cheek and finally my desires take over me and I forget everything but the building desire within me. And as my hands travel around her suppleness, I think…



Next time maybe she will cry for me…