Sex For Liver

It was the cosmic glue of our love.
The outward expression of my inability
to be romantic. The rocket fuel of our passion.

You got it? Need one more? How about:
The embodiment of Thor, the Norse God
Of Thunderous love.

We could transcend irritation, bad weather
and snow storms locked securely in our love
capsule, until the day her anti-depressant
kicked-in. Until the day a posse of post
depression Greek sex bandits named
Lexapro, Paxil, Prozac and Zoloft rode down
the middle our bed and blew up our love nest.
The Four Grecian Riders of the Apocalypse.

Seeking the balance that medication brought her,
but wanting the pleasures of intimacy, she searched
for the right pharmaceutical drug.

Promising sex, with only the side effect of liver damage
or death (only one of every 250,000 actually die),
she came upon Serzone. The bearer of sex and death
all in an easy to swallow tablet.

She was willing to take the risk. Ready to put it all
on the line and ride that pony into the sunset for sex -
the non verbal language of our passion.

"Yes, but what if it kills you? Or ruins your liver?"
Maybe my desires, my passions were killing her?

But she’d already given up drugs (at least the illegal
ones) and alcohol too, and had surrendered her anxiety
disorder and depression to popular medication, but
chanted "God damn it, I’m not giving up sex!"

I loved her perverse sense of justice. It wasn’t based
on logic, but rather on passion.

"Well, as long as it’s going to wreck your liver, why not
just start drinking again?"

"No, I’m staying sober." Again her perverse logic.
The unpredictable universe between her ears.
The broadest canvas a writer could hope to find.
She was better than my fiction. I awed at the
vistas I saw in her. The river of tears that coursed
through her sleepless sexless nights as she clung
to a life that had gone ipso-flipso.

She knew what she was willing to sacrifice.
We knew what we had to do, and that night
had liver and onions before going to bed early
in order to get a few extra rounds in. It seemed
like the only holistic, symbolic, metaphoric thing
to do. We traded sex for liver in the name of love.