An innocent,
pre-orgasmic,
pulsing field
between us.

Our conversations tremble
with life,
with all that
has not happened.

You know
I am
of another kind.
I hold it
back.

To know what is possible
and not let it happen
is a form of protection.
Or power?

*Aftermath:
An energy once without words — pain, pressure, charge — has now found form, rhythm, grammar. The original feeling has lost its destructive weight and become something that can be observed, almost held in the hand.
When a function approaches zero without ever reaching it, mathematicians say its limit is zero. It is the same with the sublimated feeling — it has reached its limit and dissolved into void. That, too, is the beginning of something new. When a feeling is emptied of its pain, yet not gone,
it becomes a sublimate. From there, one can write oneself free.