There's some of God is in him. The grace of omnipotence and absoluteness. The calmness he puts in me. The peace I find in him.

In one single word he reclaims me, renders me, takes me as his own.

The fucking bastard. I fucking hate him for putting this in me. For touching me those times, pressing his lips against mine. Holding me in the darkness by the river, and softly kissing my neck.

I hate him for holding me suspended above the torrential whirl pool, and never diving in with me.

We could be furiously wonderful together. Simply by existing.

The word "Never" slices my lips when it passes after thought of possibly. Possibly?, maybe?, perhaps?...no...NEVER. Finite, inescapable.

Complication at it's finest high. Because he belongs to duty and tradition. And I belong to heaven and hell.

He is the epitiome of everything righteous and good by measure of societal expectation.

I am the bedlam of everything human and sinful by measure of the same.

And I'm with someone else. Tragic. So the comedy of my life goes.

So I stay away to maybe make it easier. But all it takes is "Hello, Charlie," and I belong to him all over again.  I belong to him once again, right now.