When I was married to a beautiful man, that beautiful man had a beautiful partner. Her name was Cordelia. She was my metamour, a new(ish) term coined by the polyamory movement, a word which basically means: “the lover of my lover.” Sweet, lovely, enchanting Cordelia. I loved cooking with her; I loved our time in nature together; I loved weekends when we shut off the clock and played and played.
When that marriage dissolved, I stayed in contact with her. Recently we spoke on the phone. I said to her: “It’s odd. I still want to call you my metamour, because you still feel so important to my life—but that term really is no longer accurate, you know?” And to that she replied, “You, my dear, are my metamour from before—so, that makes you my metafore!”
In a rush of happy giggles, we realized she’d just coined a new term. Here it is, world. Take it if you like it.
Dig this post? If yes, you might also like Opening Love, a spiritual guidebook through the challenges and ecstasies of polyamorous relationships.