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November has made the days dark and grey, I found the sun hiding.

Lucifer /ˈluːsɪfə, n.
Old English, from Latin, ‘light-bringing, morning star’, from luxluc- ‘light’ + -fer ‘bearing’. Lucifer (sense 1) is by association with the ‘son of the morning’ (Isa. 14:12), believed by Christian interpreters to be a reference to Satan.”

………………….

Despite my best intentions otherwise, I’ve grown fond of him. The kid, the man, the handsome devil. Like a special delivery to me from the Universe: a Man who will fuck me into oblivion and then feed me mashed potatoes. I’m living the dream.

We’re both a bit baffled by the situation, how can the sex be so nuclear without romantic feelings? We fuck like we’re madly in love. We fuck like we hate each other. We fuck until we’re both proposing marriage and simultaneously threatening to disappear.

“We could be a couple for the sex alone.”
“I adore you. I will do anything you want”
“Come over tomorrow.”
“I can’t, I’m getting divorced.”

We fuck like a cliche. Like the world is ending. The world has been ending for almost two years. The city is going into lockdown and I took a $20 cab ride to his place to avoid the subway because a man on the escalator was coughing.

“Tell me what you want.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You just want me to say you can come inside of me.”

We fuck like we’ll never see the other again. Sweat drenched, hair in a bird’s nest, and my hands on his spine and his hands on my neck and his mouth between my thighs and my hand in his hair and my teeth sunk into his shoulder and my voice thrown to the corner, echoing about the apartment and my… and my…. and my God
“Good, call me by my name.”

He kneels on the edge of the bed, bent in prayer.
Kisses like the light bringer.
Gathers me onto his lap,
my limbs branch around him.
He makes me a naiad,
a nymph,
an ivy vine on a brick building.
I’ve grown on him,
and just when I am convinced
I will collapse,
when I lean back
to rest on my arm,
he takes me by the waist
and pulls me in,
“Trust me, I have you, I will always hold you.”

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