the well

i thought about the married men i'd known over the years who were always toeing the line, their wedding bands mysteriously absent, sometimes leaning in too closely to whisper in my ear at late night industry parties featuring primal rhythms and open bars, subtly enhaling my scent so dangerously close to where a woman's jaw, neck and ear meet to form the perfect storm.

some were more accustomed to the dark than others...you could tell by the shine of their eyes they were used to getting their way. and as with honey, no matter what corner, they could always find me.

that dark, mysterious, complicatedly uncomplicated place where a man goes to stand at the edge of a moonlit well as his wife and children sleep soundly at home, that place where the point of no return is a lot closer than he arrogantly believes... that place. that edge of oblivion. that place is where i live. and i sit quietly, waiting.

i see them on moonlit nights, looking for a game to test their might but not really believing what they wager can truly be lost. they come as shadows, in pompous suits and damp, naked fingers, asking for directions when they know exactly where they are.

i look them in the eye
and a grin begins to crawl
creeping through the room like a dangerous seduction

as she leans in

her cool fingers draped dangerously on his arm

(the last stop) whispering,

are you sure this is where you want to be?

as something inside flickers its tongue over the razor's edge glinting shadows within a darkness.