I know looking into your heart is like looking into a kaleidoscope, or maybe that metaphor’s a little showy, but I’m running with it for now at least, until I switch the station, and play something with a cooler jazz vibe. So, I look and find all these abstract patterns: bright and colorful, each representing a lover or a fling, and I guess at the periphery you’ll find those one-night stands or slipshod ten-day sex without mental stimulation romances, but then you progress and find these blue patterns of a year or two-year old romances of ideas of a person or who you wanted them to become, and I guess that’s why it’s dreamy and resembles a hazy sky with abstract clouds, but then I’d like to find myself at the red core, which isn’t as vague as everything else, but not absolutely clear either, because darling, you and I know, that no relationship’s perfect. Sure, I can bring you flowers this morning, and make you bacon and black coffee in that big glass, without sugar, just the way you like it, and then press you against the wall, while the hair you just did, cascades, and I know you like that – a morning taste of what’s coming, and then in the evening we could do the old clichéd walk in the park, or a movie together, or laser tag, or the new clichéd Netflix and chill. And then, I slowly unhook your bra (you know I’m good at that) and then you pull my shirt off, look at my scar, and you love it for some strange reason, even though it’s this nasty keloid, like they sawed my stomach into two, and stitched it together, which they did, when I think about it. And then kissing you on the neck and slowly, steadily and stealthily climbing down, inch by inch, while you arch your back, and sigh, and before we know it, we’re reaching for something so very electrifying, galvanizing each other, with stimulation that isn’t purely physical, but emotional, psychological and surreal, and then exhilarating and relaxing, inhaling and exhaling, imbibing and exuding, teasing and tantalizing in a way not overtly flirty or purely subjective, but mystical, if you like the term, and then, never an after nirvana guilt, or a craze to stay in the ‘moment’, but a warmth of two hearts beating as one, an affection, and each kiss after that embodies a crazy, deep, insane rich feeling: the same red at the core of the kaleidoscope. But that’s today, and tomorrow we might just feel like doing nothing except a slight kiss, with the same emotion, but then the day after, something trivial might spoil things for a few hours, and hence, even at the core, what we have is never perfect. We always fall short of perfection, and then embrace the beauty of a perfect almost-perfect, and I guess it’s just this thing we call love.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)