Roselle Pineda
She kissed me.
“I can’t make love to you,” she said.
Relief and despair.
“But I can kiss you.”
The greedy body that clamors for satisfaction is forced to content itself with a single sensation, and, just as the blind hear more acutely and the deaf can feel the grass grow, so the mouth becomes the focus of love and all the things pass through it and are re-defined. It is a sweet and precise torture.
(The Passion, Jeanette Winterson, p. 67)
I had a similar affair with a woman once.
Couldn’t touch her the way I would a lover. Couldn’t uncover her body the way a lover would. Couldn’t make love to her. We always moved in the dark alleys. We always hid in the safety of a locked room. Praying nobody would see. Praying nobody would overhear our love conversations. Praying
