【 Howbeit 】

I can’t help but see it; that craving trapped behind your chartreuse, yielding gaze. The lust to mistreat has always stood within your reach—recognition was all it needed, yet you opt for such tranquil alternatives as speech and subdued comingling. I yearn for the days when the world was no more than the two of us—a scape of flesh discovered anew and ripe for exploration. Pity, my paramour—that hint of springtide has fallen, as our ways resort to the domestication of dogs. Behaving on request or command in the response to need, lying without the ease of communication—though I itch for your hands—that kept us bound.

May we call this the true punishment for loyalty? A blossoming air of lethargy and weariness, coupled well with the symptoms of asthenia. We’ve become no more than an unwanted serenity, without argument or agreement the tides never pull. As is comparable to the heartbeat, without movement we are no more—and cannot be without intervention.

Yet you keep no qualms with my concerns, pleased with your silence and lulled existence. Time is gold, though you behave as if wealthier than the clock.

I nary resist the urge to weigh our presence in comparison to those we see around us—the young, the new, joyous and active—and pray you might awake from this depression. You nary breathe my name nor touch my palm, hence I’ve become tender with dejection.

Howbeit I linger, knowing you thrive behind closed doors—solely lacking the energy to act. In parts unknown to me, you are suited to love, my paramour. Howbeit I linger.