In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

The Dreamer

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My brother, friend, partner and soul, you have a supple mind of teflon passion and heat. Sex connects you to a yet undiscovered core. Having abandoned love and intimacy before you knew you had, longing compels you, impels your every action in its abyss. Who broke you? Your parents who left you behind? Your brother, who found you a threat, healthy and happy? Society, who condemned your desires, a man born out of the proper time? A life of privilege brings none, not ever. The gleam of the blue in your eyes belie the sparkle of hope, of invention and creative genius, muted to the grey, also in your eyes, due to fear, self-doubt, filling the hollow that howls echoed desire, fear of aging and missing out, fear of moving, changing, for losing something reliable, something undefined, undiscerned and untrue. Stymied by mistrust of yourself yet too trusting of others, you have never known your own worth. The shredded skin of your fingers, perpetual gratings of your nails moving like metronomes to soothe the ache and sync the anxiety. Ease of style and comfort with the unconventional is your lure–from the outside–but your constant compassion and soft, syncopated song, artful, eclectic sound, music of your making is your essence. Anger coats you; despair governs steadily like a politician, to fill the gaps, find the excuses, even as it is you. You look like the yogi master but are not in that peaceful possession of equanimity and ease. Your body is your armor.

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