Visitations

The long and short of life can affect the comfort of my sofa. The mood set by the mind games I play can be lethal. On a bad day the committee that inhabits my cranial desires seldom vote as one. When this happens I await the return of the dictator. She who must be obeyed is a pervasive and persuasive shapeshifter of extraordinary power. Pert, poise, bashful, obtuse, provocatively vocal, she knows no bounds. In my solitude each guise is only revealed as the nightly escapade unfolds. Whether real or fictitious she is always imaginary and probably unlike any creature known to this earth. Gossamer wings, nerves of steel. Whatever she may be she is always and for evermore my manly motivation.

Every woman I have ever known has had the potential to harm me, and yet I re-enter the arena, slingshot in hand. Is this a sensible approach to balanced living? Darn tooting it is. For my diet has chocolate as well as greens. And if truth were told I can be greedy, very greedy where sweet things are concerned. After all what is sweeter than a fair maiden’s kiss?

She is temporal, she is spiritual. As a corporal entity she will bear little resemblance to what I perceive her to be. Such is the way of man’s loves and lusts. I can live and die in a single moment. With one straying thought she can change my mood. With consummate ease and quicker than alcohol or cocaine the medusa can tame or arouse my beast within.
And only I have the power to bring her to life. As only she has the power to bring me to life.

Can I ever be sure she will ever exist for me?

Where my search will lead is nowhere but my own identity.