theocracy

Shy.

Not when your authoritative voice echoes with the disarming syllables of pet-name. But let’s review this pet-name’s origin. We were watching a show.

A feeling. A sickness in my stomach like a shift in gravity – indeed, was it not, for in that moment I wanted to be purely inward and collapsed several stories through the thick layers of my mortal pride and dignity – it’s very much like the smell of wine.

That smell. Recalls to mind several consequent images that lurk behind the paper of my will and dampen them like the sudden violent spilling of, well, wine – the metaphor, I confess, is as much an indulgence as the associations, self-perpetuating. I am self-perpetuating, but you, laugh at my inference.

Darling.

Your laugh – that lack of patience rising to a pitch and diffusing on air that has now become to my lungs as a potent toxin – I laugh that I cannot escape from its cruel appraisal – aimed at me with such disguised decency.

When you use the pet-name, it is the same. Mock the androgyny. Chastise yourself for acquiescence that you know is necessary for your crusade against my loneliness to succeed. And, if you remember, remind me that we need to watch that show again.

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