Take Up
Meeting, kissing, thinking, not thinking, talking, not talking. No need to think and talk. No need to wonder why anything is.  It just is. This is what love is. It’s about passion. It’s about the sex. The sex is passionate. It is brilliant. Yes.

Shake Up
So much so all my past experiences are thrown into the air. I am questioning everything that went for sex before. How could I have lived the years I’ve lived and never seen sex could be like this?  All my ideas and former awarenesses break up; go bitty. Rattle around.

Fake Up
I am happy in the bedroom but…..
What about sometimes when we are out together? What about when we are sitting at the table, say?  Or sitting down together somewhere not at the table? Like in the park?
     I can’t help seeing he is a performer, can’t help seeing he is a liar. He’s an egotist; an empty boaster. In all of these locations. But the sex. The sex is good. Do we need more than this?
    So I smile and say nothing about the everything-else. But when we’re not in the bedroom they still get to me. And build…..

Break Up
Things go cold in me suddenly because of something he says. And there is something I say. Which makes him go cold too. Then cold switches to a very negative kind of heat. And we both start yelling. Releasing thoughts that we have held back for too long. Words burst out of us. It is a row.
     Where did the anger come from? It wasn’t there, and then all at once, it was. Or it was there all along, only hidden. But anyway now it’s fully and openly present. The straggly bits and the critical bits and the hurtful and sorrowful bits. We’re all of a tangle.  Dissatisfaction leads to shaming and blaming.  We can’t take any more of this.
     ‘It’s over’ is what we say.  Or shout. In pain and pleasure.
     Yes, shout.  We shout out in one voice – this, the only aspect of togetherness still in evidence.

Make Up
We march off in our separate directions, fast in the going.  But then we get slower. In this space where we are but the other is not. We feel alone. We stop. Because we can’t live without one another. Can we?  Isn’t it crazy to let the bad bits sour all the good of things?  We should be more adult.  It’s love after all, we say. Just as at the first time around.  Love, yes. Which is not to be thrown away just because of a stupid row. Positive heat flows once more in us. So, joyfully, we get back together. He is wonderful, he is vibrant, he is charismatic.

Rake Up
We are warm and soft with each other.  We lie in one another’s arms. In the grassy park. The grassy park reflects what we have together.  It seems the right terrain for us to be. No rain will come.  No rain will ever come and turn the ground on which we are reclining to murky mud. Will it?
     But what if it does and we sink into it.  And we are left stranded. Cut off from happiness. This thought is frightening. So we hold in all grievances – and say nothing.  Just go with the good. This is the sensible and the agreed thing for us to do. We learned this the hard way.
     The rain when it comes is in the world of feeling. And it’s not just rain but a torrent. A raging flood. Of all the words we have not said. They have collected together and then churn out. Unstoppably. And also: We throw things – a new development. The throwing seems to express what we are feeling even more than the words.
      It stops raining eventually, but… Too late. We are drenched in hate. We cannot look at one another but still, we spit out poisons.  They churn and burn but even so we won’t give in to the idea of a failed relationship. The sex is not as good as it was before. Something is missing. The edge has gone. We kiss and carry on, leave further words unsaid.  Throw nothing more.  Because of course we can see where this is leading. But…

Wake Up!
It’s a new morning.  There’s no heat to it because winter is setting in. We sit in separate chilly spaces recognising the need to open our eyes to this reality.  Cold, dry.  Nothing left it seems.  But can we, should we…?  Because isn’t it a bad idea to give in to the thought of endings.  Then we blink.  It is necessary to blink.  And re-think.  Because we can’t go on like this. We know it’s time to move in new directions. To split. We roll around in our minds the pain and pleasure in the thought of this. I don’t care if he is playing a part or if he is not. The part or parts he is or isn’t playing no longer interest me. I don’t care if he has charisma or if it’s only my invention.

– Jay Merill