There ain’t a clever way to say it. The body hurts. The mind stays clear. I go for the temporary fix by washing away the immediate clutter built up, but a stain unaddressed days after the coffee spilled is not so easily washed away with a rag and warm water. It always starts with pornography and always ends with an unavoidable memory.
Again the mind stays clear of the debris. But the body can only remember the perfection. My body aligned squarely with yours. Every flawless curve you happened to be born with. The way your body clenches in all the right spots. The way everything fit so well.
None of this is fair, attempting to find responsibility for an act beyond the one physically in front of me. Mentally, the moment hadn’t come yet. My body had, though, effectively.
by ty miller