They were both lying to themselves and they knew it.
At first
she would leave straightway, in silence.
The instant limbs were
untangled,
clothing was put back on,
and the door slammed shut.
Then she began to linger, not too long, but just long enough.
Long
enough to pretend he wasn't memorizing each note of her
breathing.
Long enough to pretend he wasn't studying every moonray
that caressed her face.
Long enough to pretend he wasn't wanting
her in his arms until the sun rose.
She would stare into the darkness, looking for answers that weren't there.
"I can't do this anymore."
Silence.
The
bed seemed lighter, the room colder; she had taken all the warmth
with her.
All that was left was the smell of sweat and
sex.
Sex.
That's all it was anyhow. All either of them
wanted.
A lie.
He didn't
care. She was just a woman. Nothing more.
He could easily find
another to fill his bed.
More lies.
When she came back, he wasn't surprised. He knew she would.
"I thought you couldn't do this anymore?"
"I can't."
Just
once more and then never again.
Another lie.
She lingered too long this time.
Long
enough to pretend she couldn't remember the rhythm of his heart
beating.
Long enough to pretend she couldn't see his dark eyes
whenever she closed hers.
Long enough to pretend she couldn't read
the answers she sought, traced in every scar written on his skin.
It was
pure lust that drew them together.
Hunger, desire,
passion.
Nothing more.
Just sex.
Not
love.
The worst lie of all.