Afterwards

I was never more alone than when you were inside me. Filled with an emptiness so profound. That you could be inside my very skin and still I couldn't touch you at all.

Laying there afterwards deflated and numb. There is no pleasure in pleasure itself without substance.

Laying there afterwards it occured all of a sudden. You looked right at me, but I was not what you saw.

I've never been more alone than when I'm with someone. They pull their flesh close to mine. Stretch it across that cavernous expanse. A temporary bridge that always recoils leaving me stranded.

It's so much easier to be alone with yourself than to be alone with somone. Nothing lost. Nor to be found. No afterwards to underscore the obvious.

That alone is not a place I visit. It's where I live.

No afterwards here. Only ends.