Sweet Madness

Is it sweet madness, being single, or being brimful of desire and love that marks me out? I seem to have an effortless ability to make women smile at me. Their eyes shine. I do not know how I am doing it. Maybe I am like a late rose just coming into bloom before the winter shrivels it. My blood is singing. And although I am ravaged by care, and ravished by you, there must be some mark set upon me - some fruition is taking place, and plain to see by all.

And somehow you gave me that gift. A tree bent so far backwards to accommodate others, I was in danger of toppling. With just a few words, and some simple generous kisses, you straightened me, and somehow I am coming into bloom.

And then later, once we had drunk each other, when our electric senses had short-circuited each other, when your sweat was my sweat, and we hardly knew whose hand was whose, then a calm certainty began to grow in me, a kernel, a core of me in a boiling sea of stress and dizziness.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

DXXX