Assurance

fire sparks

Last night, Nick read me this poem that he wrote a few weeks ago:

You fall asleep watching a movie,
your hair smelling like smoke from the earlier fire,
when I sat beside you, with others I didn’t know,
its burnt woody scent enveloping us, me transfixed on the fire,
burning leaves floating up, soaring softly, dangerously into the night sky,
before going out, poof,
like people who have disappeared
as if most everything goes up like that and vanishes,
making me realize today, this morning,
talking about separating tonight,
how I worried that some aspect of me was unlovable,
that you would vanish,
that I must thrust hard and deep,
pinning you, taking you, as if I could,
beating back loss, as if I could,
and then the memory of you
in a black and red corset and stockings,
and me climbing down into
everything I’ve ever lost, and kneeling,
and whispering my surrender to you,
an invocation of gratitude
for that moment, for your presence,
which is an unbelievable warmth,
a terrible potential cold,
and your assurance just then,
that you would return, that I was your boy,
your fragile, vulnerable boy,
and that I was okay.

Laying next to each other in bed, we talked about his poem for awhile. I found it interesting that in the beginning of the poem, his question of whether he was “unlovable” left him feeling lost and vulnerable, and yet in the end, he was “okay.”

In his poem, he said:

me climbing down into
everything I’ve ever lost, and kneeling,
and whispering my surrender to you,

He surrendered.

And then:

and your assurance just then,
that you would return, that I was your boy,

So, I wondered why, in one moment, vulnerability felt lonely and frightening and then in that moment when he realized that I would return, he found comfort, even though he was still:

your fragile, vulnerable boy,
and that I was okay.

So, I’ve thought about this poem for much of the morning. Perhaps it’s not so much his vulnerability that brings him comfort in the second part of the poem, but the ability to trust another with that vulnerability, and the assurance of knowing he is lovable and will not be left.

Nick’s poem brought about my own invocation of gratitude. For most of my life, I’ve not been able to share my vulnerability. Neither have I been with someone who would share his vulnerability with me. Now, I have something I’ve looked for all my life.

I am grateful not only for the ability to share what’s most fragile inside me, but for the love, trust and respect that helps each of us to be honest and authentic; those three things then treasure and protect us once we are exposed.

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About Nick and Elise

It may turn away some readers to know that Nick and Elise are, shall we say, right smack dab in mid-life. But, it’s part of their story. Blessed with healthy sexual appetites that have not waned as they've aged, they also feel blessed to have found each other, after leaving sexless marriages. And now, having discovered in each other a playmate as well as a soul mate, they play. And they write about it. Some of what they write is real. Some of it is fantasy. Only Nick and Elise know the difference between the two.
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One Response to Assurance

  1. Steve says:

    Such thoughtful reflections. Thank you.

    Like

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