Feeling alone with my desires

I believe that if you love someone, you tell them.
If you want to be with them, you tell them.
If you are with them, you dream of them.
If they walk by your side, you touch them.
You touch in joy, in desire, in happiness. You touch to reaffirm that you desire them. You touch in public. So called public displays of affection are just demonstrations that love should not be contained. And if someone doesn’t like it, well, fuck them.

I prefer my relationships to be shouted from the rooftops. I prefer that we love out loud and loudly at the same time. Little secrets are for little children. If you are mine, then You Are Mine. I love with fierce passion.

I don’t understand walking without touching. Without seeing them out of the corner of your eye and pushing them to the wall and kissing them. Or pulling them as close as possible until someone shouts “get a room”.

I want to whisper poetry and hear your voice and your words. I want you to fall asleep at my side and wake knowing that you are loved.

If you have a dark side, I’ll match you step for step.

Join me, dance with me, love with me. I’ll do my level best to not dissapoint.

Emotional intimacy

In a very immediate way, physical intimacy is an outgrowth of emotional intimacy. I know that is backwards of how it usually works. And there was a time when I tried to embrace that. But it never really clicked for me.

It’s a high then a crash to nothing. Fun in the moment, but we(writers/poets) don’t live in the moment. We live in the vastness of our minds. Exploring our lives and emotions. Coming to the surface to give this found secret to the world.

If I am emotionally connected, then there is a moment in my lovers eyes, an echo of that discovery, of that perfect moment of vulnerability and hope that takes me beyond the shores of physical pleasure. To a place of the mind. Taking them with me into my heart.

Maybe that is scary. To think that way. Or be thought of that way. Fear, this kind of fear, has always been an indication that I am doing something right.

Afraid , emotional and vulnerable. Thinks too much, cares too much. Broken and mending. Practiced and fumbling.

I am all of these things. But, if I love you, it will always be so. And though we may be parted, I will always carry you, my love for you, in my heart.

Cowardice?

I wish I had the courage to say to all those that I love, “I love you.” I wish I had the courage to say to all those who I think I could love, “I could love you, given time and half a chance.” I wish I could say, “There is something about you that is so compelling.” I wish I could share what I see. I would wish that I was not so fearful of the consequences. If I say those things, what would the fallout be? Would I be believed? And if I am believed, would I be dismissed, disregarded? Or worse, met with silence. As if I never were. This is what consumes me. And all the lust, all the fire of the physical. Is a mask worn to conceal these thoughts, these needs. But like all thoughts, when worn long enough, they have become a part of me. Inextricably linked to how I view love. It is not enough to love someone emotionally. I need to touch them. For some just a few fingers against their arm, or a hug. For others they consume me and I need to consume them. To feel comfortable, complete.

I love many people. Each uniquely, each for different reasons. But I love them. I wish I was free or fool enough to declare it.

Every moment of every day

desire for you consumes,
a flame bitter and cold,
need raging across nerve endings,
need for your touch, your voice, your words,
crawl to me,
rest your head on my thigh,
taste your mouth,
teasing your body,
looking into your eyes, kindling flame,
in pleasures ragged and painful, hold you to me,
my hands and tongue exploring every inch,
knowing and needing,
your soft whimpers,
the feel of your body around mine,
tight with desire,
scream startling neighbors,
make you mine,
again and again until we dissolve in pools of sweat,
never stop making love to you, even when our bodies fail us,
whisper my desires, future plans,
taut with greed for you,
all that you are,
there is nothing of you I do not worship,