Captivated

I feel good.

I feel...

Uncommonly sexy in the prison I wear for you— 

in the bruises you gave me which shift softly over the days— 

(a friend of mine remarked, and I agree, that one in particular has blossomed into just the colours of a ripe peach, that particular contrast between purple-red and golden yellow.

I took a photo of that, and will keep it, in case you would like to see. No doubt it will have faded by that time. No doubt I will miss the spots that I can prod to recall an echo of a sweetly remembered pain. Perhaps I will ask you slyly to give me bruises that last longer next time.)

in the knee-high striped socks I did not even show you I was wearing— 

in the soft words of appreciation and encouragement that hold my anxiety like a tiny furry pet and stroke and soothe it calm—

yes, I am wanted here, wanted now, wearing my invisible chains, my range of custom smiles selectively curated to be compatible with an almost entirely platonic kind of kinship.

 

I am walking the high wire between extremities; between taking all I want and surrendering want itself.

I tend the flame and stoke it softly, and I keep the grates that surround it no worse than warm. And if you look and consider the question, I do not doubt you can still see me loving you. But I am working on not demanding of you to look, and it seems that I am working it well.

Walking the high wire, and I have not fallen yet, though certainly within myself I feel the sway, the little corrections; straining left, straining right.

Learning to suppress but yet maintain, learning to feel but not to speak... It is an interesting thing for me, who has barely ever really practiced this.

It feels almost like cheating, skating past a bunch of struggle by simply declining to struggle with it, and turning my efforts and my interest elsewhere. The struggle is with my habit of insisting, or not being sure how to choose, or how to justify my choice.

A choice taken from me and pushed back into my hands firmly decided is a welcome freedom here, honestly.

I love you for holding me to a standard higher than most have dared; one it will take me some growth to achieve, but which is not beyond my potential reach. 

A song lyric I have always really liked springs to mind...

And I've had recurring nightmares
that I was loved for who I am
and missed the opportunity
to be a better man.

It's popularly appreciated for a damn good reason, that line; that song.