(Im)pure

He watched the moon set over the grey blocks of architecture. The mist he was so fond of was hovering around their edges, merging the sharp corners into blurs of sky. He never remembered the setting of the moon. The glorious erection of sun too chauvinistic in its performance that the man forgot the tired old moon as it shrank away to breathe over another soul's night. Today he couldn't face the sun. He was afraid the light of the day would burn him and cause him to accept their night was over - that a new day was forming like a rampant virus and would soon engross him in its honesty. The man had felt himself redefined that night. The hours of moaning panting poetry between the sheets and kissing across the skin had sparked chaos in his chest; a wrathful warmth of longing. He was enslaved by the impossibility of what he knew to be the most honest desire he'd ever possessed and under the ghostly smile of the moon he was allowed that brief happiness; that momentary connection with contentment. It's irregularity and beauty a foreign confusion to his unfulfilled voracity.

The man's eyes drifted through the cool dawn mist and a personal haze formed between his lids. The inevitable danger of his tryst was rising with the wretched majesty and ego of his galaxy's relentless star. It threatened to dissolve his immunity and leave his pure devotion tainted. He felt the skin of his bare chest as he faced out the large window - he traced the sky line as he traced his love's inflictions of lust; softly scratched into his powerful frame. The clawing hands of a cum drenched entanglement, pleasure, hunger and fear all singing a melancholy choir across his figure. He smiled through the prick of tears and lost himself in the memory of gasping lips and warm tears of a finally found release. The edges of his happiness were moulding though. The fungus was stronger than the antiseptic thoughts he was forcing against it. He could not hide from the anxiety of rejection, the fading euphoria of a dream finally made real. The desperation to know the body of his true soul mate again - to lay lips across lips and hands between thighs was raging like a tsunami through his mind and his blood. The man's incandescent eyes could not stop from darting to the bedroom door to again drink in the fragile nudity of the flesh he had so long fantasized about.

The blue of the sky was loud now - the day had arrived. The man cursed the moon for leaving him there under this crumbling mirage. Before the day had it's opportunity to expose him entirely the man craved one last look - one last solid gold gem of adoring pride. But as he pushed the door open softly to the place he'd left his flame to rest on the cinders of their burnt out passion; he saw his son's youth-stripped eyes were already widened. In them a stagnating blank lost horror. The truth of the day didn't matter to the boy, the night was just as fluorescent on his torment. Its soundtrack a begging pain-gasped opera. The sodden sheet could never again protect his innocence - shield this new nudity. The man sighed with heavy grief. He knew he didn't deserve happiness when it came at such a cost. Yet both shredded souls knew now he would never stop stealing it. With that screaming, thrashing truth he knew he could never again depend on the veil of a naive moon.