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MY LOVER WAS NOT MINE


He used to come over Wednesdays or Thursdays, never one day after the other, never too early, never too late. He knew how to bring it up, at the right time, in the right way. He knew the meanders and corners of the dirt road that led up to my mother’s house where I would be waiting. He knew how to unlock the front door, where to return the key after locking us in and just how to arrange his shoes at the door for smooth flight. He knew the way to the spare bedroom where he would find me waiting, sometimes I would meet him at the door like I was supposed to meet my husband, only he wasn’t my husband. My lover knew how to come to me.

He knew how to speak to me with his eyes, he knew every button just by touch, he knew where every cloth should fall on the red floor and all with his lips still on mine he knew how to find himself under me. my lover knew how to look into my eyes while he put my legs around his waist. He knew how to turn up the ringer on both our phones, so our mothers could reach us when they needed to. He knew how to kiss me, breathless. He knew exactly what part of my body praised him when he touched and what tempo he needed to maintain on the joining of our sins. He knew the language I spoke when I did not need to say a word. he knew when it had been long enough for me to be ready for him. My lover knew how to make love to me.

He knew how to let me straddle him, so he could watch me mount him and sit upon his form like a queen on her throne. He knew how to let me take control. He knew how to control my control so that as his hands cupped my breasts my back would arch and I would meet him in the final lap like we had done so many times before. He knew how to let me sit there a while longer after he was done. He knew how to let me throw one thic thigh across his body when I dismounted so we could glow in unison. He knew how to hold me while I dozed off and he knew how to let me kiss his chin while he slept. He knew how to laugh at me when he caught me staring and how to playfully make me blush. My lover knew the after-sex ritual.

He knew how to follow me into the bathroom where we would wash up. He knew how to put on all his clothes while I put on mine. He knew how to sit fully dressed on that seat right next to the door and make idle conversation before he could kiss me farewell. He knew how to unlink our fingers when I held on; he knew how to tear his eyes away when he had to go.  He knew how to lock the door after him. He knew how to leave ten minutes before my mother came back home. My lover knew how to say goodbye. 


My lover knew how to pay me no attention in the presence of others. He knew to touch my hand just enough for a halo and how to look at me just enough for exchanged pleasantries. My lover knew how to love me like a secret.
 

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