Neither Random Nor Confused

You would come up behind me, undo my belt and jeans, begin stroking me, murmuring from where I couldn't see you. Sparks sail into the night sky, obeying laws I dimly understand are neither random nor confused. When we close our eyes it is only to remember the light in which all things - even darkness - are seen. Who were you saying what you said, sometimes bringing your other hand around. We enter our bodies like mist leaves a lake but in those days I left mine like a surfacing trout - violently rising long enough to forget everything, unable to breathe, the light of what was happening too bright. You wanted me to say things, swear things, and made it so I said them. God watches us from the sitting porch of our mind, not discerning between mating robins, sounding whales and wind-seeded violets. You liked me weakening in your hands. You liked telling me how it was going to end, making me repeat what I was not to forget. Spring comes, crocuses come. You still position your hands so nothing will be lost, then lift them to massage my throat until it shines. "My pretty boy, my only love." Whatever happens is sufficient but Christ we have to endure a lot of happening to learn it. You left me a mess, unsure of God, and shaky with women who only wanted to help. I find my knees and let everything dry untouched, the first of the many promises I promised you I'd keep.