Different lovers, different mes- no coupling partner has ever fallen into the same pool of my being.
Perhaps to begin with, that much must be accepted.
But with the progression of acquaintance- a word, a phrase, an ideal- changes are made as to which threads are pulled and hang loose from the tapestry for them to see.
In one lover’s arms I could be a caged free spirit; dreaming of rainbow gatherings of perpetual inebriation and earthen bare skin.
But like a feather in the wind, I always lift at the slightest breeze- floating, rolling on the ascending currents to another’s embrace; where there,
I am preacher’s daughter; clean-tongued and world-innocent. Eager for for a quiet little home, offspring aplenty and a spouse and protector who is never there.
If all my past lovers gathered in a room, still they would not know me. They would not even recognise me in the glint of each others eyes, the roll of each others tongues. None could say,
"But yours was mine then, and our lovers were one and the same"
“So it must be! Was she not a wild and untameable force?”
“Indeed, but also a gentle and reliable pillar”
I wait on the one who would lock the doors, and burn that room down over their heads. Who will take an end of velcro to that tapestry and snag at every thread till their fibres stand at attention and none remain settled.
Only then will I know true, pure and unconditional love
or completely hate myself."