Et Tu, Mr. Snuffleupagus?

It's that time of year again... a day which I dread and the occasion it shadows rips through my gut with a fierce, licentious maw. The problem is people, certain people that elude my understanding... they have a place in my life, but the edges are loose and unfitting. Turning, turning, turning... we mash and gnash, but it never feels right. The boundaries are greyed and restraint is required with extreme diligence to steady the murky waters... there are halves and wholes, smiles and smirks. The gates hold back the flood of inappropriateness from spewing upon the fresh linens... the blood still pumps and the levee swells, begging for thrusting release. The familiar family card games... seated at the table, the top card is flipped. Love. When a kiss becomes passionate and embrace becomes a caress, they must pass the inspector's watchful eye... reduce, revalue, restraint. Love. It's the mother that tucks her son into bed with the loving warmth of her eye... or the mother that lays with him warming the bed with her breasts and thighs. The father the watches over his sleeping daughter with virtue and honor... or the father inhaling her dirty delicates in a masturbatory fever. Love. The boundaries it provides and the ones it easily allows to be crossed... the id and the ego dancing in delight, sweating with the night. The embrace that is desired, yet resented, emerges from the wings of wait... one, two, three, release. Did I wet myself, or did I taint you as well? We'd rather not know, pretending the music never stopped. A room full of smiles, filled with the devil's child... combing the mane, rescinding the wild. It's not bound in blood, nor is the quelling inspired by such... it's the thought, the look, the place, the touch.