There are times when I like being in between, between the sheets, a lover’s arms, legs, between orgasms, yes, that’s my favourite as long as it’s only a few hours – not days or years – the feeling of satisfaction meets the anticipation of more satisfaction, love is never deeper than in that interregnum, physical love maybe, but there are no doubts, no “What ifs” – he just did and is about to do it again, that is the rawest form of love;
between lovers implies that you are going to find a new love, yet as we all know, that is when the pain is greatest because we don’t know IF we will find that new one – I’ve waited a long time; it seems like forever, for I’ve met my one true love and rejected him, unforgivably and certainly rashly, and I can’t take it back – that love is broken, like my first Barbie with the “growable” hair that “grew” too long, leaving her bald, not even like a fuzzy peach, just hard plastic and an empty hole, empty like my heart, like my brain when I pulled on Barbie’s hair or when I chucked my love, not the feeling of empowerment of when I chucked my husband, he knew that my love for him wasn’t as deep as it should have been, so he found another, a younger model, someone who sweat on him rather than out on a 6 am run,
running has its in betweens, too, you are always in between, between start and finish, between runs, between injuries, between new shoes; they say I should replace them every 300 miles, that’s every couple of months and they still look good, except that they don’t cushion as well as they used to; replacing them regularly keeps me between injuries, like my pulled calf muscle last autumn, that’s my regular ache, as well as the occasional achilles soreness – my running keeps me thin and ready for a wild night in bed, if that ever comes – I last longer, well, I take longer, too, because exercise suppresses my hormones – that’s OK because I love the tussle, the satisfaction of surviving a marathon, having to wash the sheets after a sleepless night, sheets with the sweet smell of love and sweat, a well-earned ecstasy and hyper-relaxation – I run fastest after sex – I don’t know why, I assume it’s the relaxation and possibly an adrenaline high;
I’ve been between jobs, you could say that I’m between marriages, but that assumes (wrongly) that I will marry again, I’m between novels, paralyzed between two that I can’t ever decide which to work on, between poems, this was supposed to be one, but I let my mind unravel, pouring out the first stream for you in a long while, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll be on an island between streams again, in limbo doing in the mambo (just wanted to use that line!), which is better than being in mambo doing the limbo or the samba in a mambo bikini (I’ll post the picture for you, although she isn’t dancing in it) – I like the easy release ties, for when you’d rather swim (or dance?) au naturale, or maybe something else, yes, I’ll take that something else instead, because I want to be back in between, the short in between, the interregnum.