Icarus Drowned
Cuckolding | Compersion | Regret | Inspired Adrienne Rich's "Diving into the Wreck"
I’ve never been good with endings.
Beginnings, however, offer the spark.
The dopamine. The novelty.
A blank canvas that holds too many possibilities.
But I am impatient with want and careless with emotion.
The middle, that’s where the tensions lie.
The story gets told.
Lives get built,
then collapse,
take different shapes.
Different challenges. Obstacles.
Do we still have the same goal?
I think not.
What she doesn’t know is — this is my final sacrifice.
From the onset, she doubted I could handle it.
And yes, there’s only so much compersion and comparison a cuck can take.
The delicious irony of it all? Seeds were planted: physically… metaphorically.
She gave me the chance at absolution.
I’ve set up the camera so tonight will live past the finite. She’ll have something to view. A memento of our perversion.
Black latex body-armor contrasts pink chastity.
An absurd emblem. My entrapment.
This awkward mask conceals nothing. She thought my emotional masochism a kink. She found an exorcized voyeur.
She was once the ladder. The rungs that would pull me up after going down. Down into her dark pink, and his clear genome, our exacerbated moans and confessionals.
She’s available to her men. Splayed. Wanted. Consumed.
Here’s where I’d describe it in graphic sexual detail. But it’s all the same. We’ve seen this scene full of cunt, cocks, and cum.
Am I making you soft?
Does your clit now sing an elegy?
This is erotic chastity.
This is me turning the key.
There’s freedom and fear in finality.
All endings are bifurcated.
It’s either a bang or a whimper.
Like our bedroom.
I didn’t evolve for her myth.
I didn’t drown for their salt upon my twisted, alkaline tongue.
Evidence of their damage,
my desire dashed upon the rocks,
my sexy siren.
I’ll no longer sleep with the drowned.
No one comes to this edge and returns.
This is our absolution.
This is our death.
La petit mort.
I was once the curious, curious Icarus
with Meghan’s wax, laden upon my wings,
singed too close to her insatiable desire.
Now, I carry the knife to cut my name from her book.
