______The reconciliation between Love Making and the Program of Together is quite possibly an impossible object to hold for any substantial period of time. Yet we find ourselves attempting to scoop such an object up, baby it in the arms, and give it some vital element such as chocolate or reciprocation.

Such an object appears carved as LM+PT in varying grains of wood. In such grains our = is always assumed of, a given, in a word: forever. But forever has almost always been outlasted by those carved-into creatures called trees or park-benches or friends. The latter of which survive our tribulations only through an air of tenderness (support) toward our peculiar nesting strategies and an effort to remain upbeat at all disappointment assemblies.

Such carved-into creatures almost always arrive at said assemblies as spectators and then at some point begin the reflexive gesticulating at our floundering bodies. This is also known in some circles as a Reemerging Parade in which our each successive flushing out into singleness is the calving of a new vantage-point for the pageantry of bodies and ideals streaming with their steady pixilated rhythm through the frontal lobes. From this periphery we watch people gravitate inside its bright subcutaneous bougainvillea. Others are attempting to nest there. They say they are in relationship. Hands fluttering with trepidation, with impossible objects teasing the skin. Here it was that there was a 'she' and of course an 'I' who were the slippery clutching of hours on end. As are many who have tried not to succumb to the protective repelling force between two sticky welted groins. As are many who have battled against the going away, against any all forefathered or foremothered escape impulses cresting up into the thighs.

Soon we were like those ballooning figs outside our window in the summer that devote themselves to birds. At our ripest and most deflowered when surrendered of ourselves to some larger body with a hard black beak. So surrendered it seemed the phased breathing of our two purged beings on a bed could not end in regret. And we weren't entirely incorrect, especially after some time had been cast between us. But not before we gave the honorary pincushion of regret to our friends to dub them our personal acupuncturists. Their needles can be felt in the Western regions of the pectorals in post-LM+PT hugs. We are always thankful when such friends survive.

Recently, at the fringes of coastcities, there have been a string of what people have begun calling the 'Flattenings' from the punctured venting of such friendship squeezes. Seven of the reported cases involved alcohol, namely wine from their sandy localities. Investigations are ongoing but fruitless thus far. Researchers are hesitant to make even cursory remarks about the incidents, but one witness who requests to remain nameless said that in the presence of such a freak flattening' she had felt in the air something she described rapidly as "levitatienergy," a word never before translated into New Age from its Vedic source. Such disregard for recent etymological legislation against the flippant combining of words will keep her from the witnesstand if there is ever a case brought against anyone.

As for case bringing, online sales are skyrocketing for the presumed vineyards responsible, much like in the Mezcal Craze of the late seventies which is now said to have spurred the Diego Area Rapes of the same period. The reputation of grapes has rarely been sullied by such crimes. Of passion maybe. Of impossible objects rubbed in the hands like a little brass lamp.

We must remember that there are always the false reconciliations to watch out for. And we can't not look too burgundy of the lips if we ever propose advancing our togetherness to the ringed tumult of vows and nuptial pomp just to keep =ing forever. Circumstances permitting, our favorite acupuncturists would arrive at the ceremony even if we did, nearly invisible needles in hand, with a sigh buried deeply. A ring would be presented, and for at least several months after, its shining whitegild band would be almost thought of as representing a newfound object of possibility.

Conciliatory in nature at least when that tiny white symbol all of a sudden has its own independent smelt value. When it can be folded and slid into an animalskin wallet or plinked into a purse. To be waved at a bartender during the next Reemerging Parade. The entire experience being one more thing to have surviving friends for, and to be grappling ideals with, the latter of which cannot be clouded by wine so as to resist the temptation of denial, conflation or both.

So if we accept that a dumb looking park bench has outlasted our forever behavior, or that the weeping willow choice for carving our names into was just a little bit of foreshadowing, we may rear our heads in the last spurting moments of scissoring such an LM+PT object between our arms. Our skins might be humming along, applauding or throwing bits of sweat into the air. Collapsing heavy on the bed, we would know that at least for one moment we had held our own impossibility like a breast holds onto breathing.

And after, emptied of the hands and mouths, purged of our noblest alchemic efforts, if remaining childless, we might do what we like. We might give each other just one more of those proverbial tries. Or we might stake a sign into our yard written on it For Sale, or Open House, whichever seems more inviting of the housedness of another couple's possibly impossible object.

For a time this kind of project might be named Nesting With Chocolate And Reciprocation if there were a need for such titles to be announced; if reconciliation could easily be manhandled, womanclutched or otherwise attended.

In departure, there might be the final dispossession kisses, hugs or trembling thrusts, each giving its signal in a language with which we are familiar but paralyzed to respond to. We would be breathless in a way not unlike having been the victim of a 'flattenin,' the perpetrators of which there can be no charge against because sadly, there is still no law except one by the name of Murphy and he cannot hold us accountable.

Besides, both she and I would have to be arraigned and forced to sit in the same courtroom, and neither of us would want that kind of = tacked onto our names. Neither would want such legal ramifications, especially in the context of irreconcilable objects smoldering in that subcutaneous domain where Happily Nesting might no longer be such a reckless soughtafter anyway.

At the very least when the actual time might come to be walking away, the word 'relinquish' would no longer sound like 'failing' so utterly, and a Reemerging Parade actually could almost sound appealing in-and-of-itself outside of any context to it -- just to have survived and no longer be in need of that object of desire once so wholly given over to and also somehow so completely overlooked. So bruised of the lips looking, we would sit quietly on the bed for awhile annulled in way not unlike relieved to be sitting feeling possible again.

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