A Lingering Moment

I watch the smoke trails dissipate

as I exhale yet another cigarette.

Alone, I perch myself on the toilet.

Three am, eyes wide.

Silence the patronising voices in my head,

I cannot.

Stuck, here now,

in this moment.

Chastising existence,

Notably myself.

I allowed him my body.

He’s not the first,

won’t be the last.

In a whirlwind of lust

he took control,

hard,

fast,

spent,

goodbye.

The ferocity excited me,

directing my every movement,

heating me from the inside out,

forceful movements allowed me to lose myself,

unrelenting pleasure found.

Once, twice, a third time he rose me to the zenith,

each time I sunk deeper within the rippling clouds of ecstasy.

For the briefest of moments, I was worthy of his attentions.

For the briefest of moments, I felt loved.

For the briefest of moments, I did dream.

Why now, after this moment of bliss,

am I perched on the toilet

to pee out

him,

his taste,

his smell,

his experience?

Urgency to wipe him away,

and flush this moment

overrides all senses.

I cannot allow that tiny scene to take refuge in my heart.

Our relations - he and I,

from the outset,

were never meant to amount to

anything more than

just another passing moment.