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A novel in verse … and the writing thereof
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Forgiveness

How was it possible that after all of that

I still kept a secret

               from him?

 

Oh, the secrets, oh the damning, dreadful

secrets! The toll they take, untold, and again

in the telling, the ulcers and the eczema!

 

When I had finally told mine, I wanted to kill

my mother. “Ugh. I hate secrets.

Cory disagreed. “They can be fun.” Seeing my look he

backed away. “I’m not saying that they

     always are. Just that they can be. Sometimes.

Rarely.”

“Do you have some?”
“From you?”

I nodded. He always knew what I

               really meant.

“No. There are things I haven’t

     told you, yet, but nothing

that I wouldn’t. Nothing I’m determined

not to share.” He tipped up my

unwilling face. “Why are you crying?”

“Oh, Cory—I feel so—dirty

     next to you. I’m afraid to share

anything at all.”

He kissed my forehead and my cheeks. “It’ll come.

Let it be and it’ll come,

     given time.”

“Oh God,” I wailed, “What if

it doesn’t, and I stay locked up in

this box I’ve built, this coffin—”

He started laughing, so I fought to get away

     from him. “Don’t laugh—sometimes I think I’m

buried alive. Agghh—Cory—help me—”

I was still pulling away, writhing, really, as he

backed me up towards the bed and

     toppled me over,

falling across me, and pinned me down, kissing me,

until I paid attention and kissed him back.

When his hand found my breast I pressed it there; my head

went back, so his kisses landed on my ears, my neck, below—

There was a certain amount of fumbling,

I admit, but mostly pleasure, simple as water—Eventually

his hand, lower still, was

doing things that short-circuited my brain. Little mewling sounds

started coming from my mouth, a crescendo, focused,

single, focused, wide as the world, took me in its beam and

rocked my body, as I clutched Cory and he reared against me,

rocking too.

“Oh my god,” I said. “What was that?”

He hummed and smiled, kissing me.

“Never mind. I always thought Mary was lying,

     but I guess not.”

Cory kissed me again. “Feeling better, Lindy?”

“Yes, thank you. Talk about going up

like a rocket, and coming down

     like feathers.”

“I can’t stop kissing you,” he said.

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