I slid out of bed away from the nakedness of us and stood on the back deck. I was looking up at that big Texas sky. I wanted this more than I wanted anything but we knew. We knew what the law was. We were wrapped around each other, ready to surrender, ready and I had to know. I asked the sky with a range of emotion I don’t always discuss. I asked that sky and that God we shared. I asked the moon and that feeling we shared.

A covenant we said. We discussed cutting a ring around our fingers and letting the blood spill into each other. I wanted this with you. You and each of the 5 stars you are made of, I wanted.

I stand outside in the morning. I stand there next to the rock strewn landscape and I remember your skin and the sound of your breathing. You never denied me you.

I remember the drugs we shared and the running and tearing down of that deck when we couldn’t resist. I remember the feeling that the neighbors knew and could see. We wrote music out there all night your foot in my lap. We spoke the Word and tasted each other while breaking it. I remember this because I’m back at that place, I’m sitting here, remembering what I asked for.

These days are lean. There is no porn, or release. There are no drugs or beers. No bottles of wine and nothing cooking for the children. These days are lean there is no studio in the garage to go and free myself in, late after you’ve decided to sleep. There is no anger about far we ran from the Word when it challenged our need for each other.

I’m sitting here wondering about that answer. Wondering about love and if I’ll ever truly see it again.