Why Stop Tonight

I want sex and food to be non-issues.

Sometimes sex is a dredge, pulling back layers of a time long ago and more so forgotten. Sometimes food and drink are the clods of dirt shallowly filling in the scraped earth of my memory.

Were sex and food always connected for me? Were food and drink my subconscious Band-Aid, one I rarely realized I was affixing?

I want sex and food to be non-issues.

Sex tickles

Drink calms

Food covers

Flip it around; repeated, reversed, reordered. Were they always there in varying order, during, before and now after the streak?

If food covers and drink calms, what needs to be uncovered and spun out of control? What do the ticklish times point to, deep beneath the fun of the streak, beneath just sex, beneath married intimacy?

I’m on a diet that’s ending, and a streak that just did—both full of restrictions of a past well hid.

No, not that food, no matter how good.

No, not that position, no matter how good.

No, not that taste, no matter how good.

No, not that feeling, no matter how good.

 

Restrictions placed on me by a book by a man I chose to believe.

Restrictions placed on me by a step man I chose to believe.

Restrictions placed on me by me, because I choose to conceal, not see.

 

The who that was taken and left me to be the who that is now, confused and wanting to see…

In the wake of the end, the streak marked 1158 because of the nights we fought ‘till late,

We’ve blown quite past, no stopping in sight,

“Why”, I ask, “Why stop tonight”?

 

 

Christina

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