Sinserious

My lover locks his hand with mine before he raises my callused fingers to his lips. These are not the hands of a working man. These are not the eyes of a pampered son. The tears glazing their enchanted depths look out of place. Each drop is an oddity that never sees the light of day. I blink when his tears burn my eyes. They make my heart hurt for reasons I can’t explain. This is what it feels like to be turned out. And when I think I can’t take anymore of this pleasure that feels like torture, he joins our bodies with the sweetest kiss that I will ever kiss. With the softest lips that I will ever touch. This is deeper and far more erotic than sex. We are making love. His tears glisten in the firelight when he smiles and collect on the tips of his ridiculously long lashes. Tears that are more precious than the diamonds they mimic. My heart beats in answer to the call of whatever is happening in his heart that makes my lover want to cry. Maybe the way I kiss him. And touch him. And hold him is filling in the aching crevices of his broken heart. The way that being with him fills in mine. There is pain in healing. And maybe. Just maybe. They are tears of joy because this is the start of something beautiful.