Poetry

Stroke of Genius.

“All I am is literature, and I am not able or willing to be anything else.”

― Franz Kafka
Today
I ran off with my lover. We took a temporary leave from this cruel world to
delight in the world of prose. Heightened senses and perception, each word from
my lover caressed the curves of my mind and sought out the extraordinary in me.
We lay down in the green fields of fantasy. Reality could no longer feed our
passion. Lost in my lover’s binding and he in my hands; we dispelled all worry
of the past and the future. In this fragment of time, in this place; I was made
whole. My lover’s words filled the abyss of my soul. I alone reserved the right
to reject the other. My lover would be nothing but himself; no illusions and no
expectations of me. He fused his words to induct me into his world. The result
of which was a multitude of profound emotions. I reveled in the realisation that
I could feel every single one of them. I cried, laughed, blushed; my lover had
every single bit of my being. I craved more of him. An intoxication like no
other, the words flowed from him; perpetual and yet seemingly new. My heart
raced at the thought that this immersion was timeless; beautiful and somewhat
divine. I longed to endure these sensations every day. My lover invoked
thoughts and ideas in my world that no other could. Five minutes with my lover
resembled eternity. I sought to create my art from what my lover stroked to
life within me. And then the panic kicked in. There was no possible way to have
my lover for eternity; there would be an end. Of course I could take it from
the top and go through the same process. On a lucky day, my lover will invoke a
different emotion. But there would never be another first time with my lover. That
initial moment when my mind took in my lover could never be recreated. But there
was still joy and lessons learned from my lover. I would find another tomorrow.
But for now, I let my lover reign over me.
Today,
my lover was a piece of literature. Words so perfect for each other that they
formed a book. A book so perfect for my soul that my whole being ached when I read
the last word. Pleasure and pain were mine in that instant. 
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