TheBanyanTree: Midnight Swimming

[maria gibson]

Me and the moths.  Sure, I have angst, I have reasons to be in the pool so
late on May 2nd.  What of the moths?  Why are they so forlornly fluttering
about in the cold, chlorinated waters of the apartment pool?  Why am I?  I
am fascinated by their struggling movements.  They kick feet, however many
they have, they flutter wings and it doesn't take long to realize they are
fluttering amilessy.  They are drawn to the light, warmish orbs under water
which aren't really warm but by comparison to the water's temperature, they
are molten.  It seems that for a moment's joy they will endure poison and
the slow warmth of hypothermia.

I am the moth.

I am drawn, ever so mindlessly, to the waters of your touch.  Those around
me can see the murky depth holding the bodies of previous moths who were
unfortunate.  No bodies of the fortunate ones float either on the bottom or
the top.  Were there ever the fortunate?  The blind agonizing joy of those
left living is but a dim memory to the cold ones yet gone before.  Dead by
rapture.  Drowned in ecstasy.  I am the moth.  I can't be without the lurid
memory of your touch and what I may gain of it again.  I want to swim in the
waters of your cold and poisonous embrace.  Touch me and warm me with the
joining part of your body, the dovetail meant to fit into mine so
perfectly.  Take me to the deep end, gently slide my garment to the left and
enter my body and we will flutter and we will be blind in that momentary
haze of glory.  I want it.  I know it is fleeting.  I know it is
translucent.  I want it.  I know it is momentary.  I know it is transient.
I want it.  I want it with the same feverish pitch with which the moth wants
the underwater orb.  I would drown to enjoy one more moment, I would risk
whatever it took to swim again.  Love me in the deep end, slide garment and
frabic, tear at the threads of my heart and soul and make me feel again the
oneness and the single mindedness of physical mindlessness.  I await it.  I
envision it.  I hunger and yearn.

Yes.  I want it.  Drawn like a moth, drawn to certain harm.  Feverishly and
agonizingly I hunger for that which will serve no purpose.

I want it.

Maria