Minutes, wind and wistful

Heat slips into veins
Heart beating in time with the trickle pulse
Of desulatory wind
Welcome arms as old lovers
Embrace to catch the sun

Light shivers and moans
Bare skin burn
Thrust hopeful into embrace of day

Foreknowledge speaks the coming night
Tears break ranks
Falling to the thirsty earth

Moon and stars rise
High waters drown the light
And I
Forgotten
Sleep
Bereft of touch

My idea of a perfect date

We sit together in a nice spot with waiters and quiet. Drinking coffee and texting each other. Smiling and holding hands. Occasionally talking. Maybe just reading books together and sharing this great passage that we read. Maybe putting up our phones and kissing like the world has fallen away and only you and I exist. We only leave when we can no longer stand the minutes of being separate and we go to whoevers place is closest. Where we start the dance again until we are both comfortable. Maybe kissing and talking is what we do. Maybe sharing our music and a exploration of lips. We explore each other. That is my perfect date.

I’m a physical person. But I’m also reticent at first. And I enjoy the quiet moments and little truths. A date will always include touching if I’m enjoying it. Because when I touch, my mind encapsulates the memory and it is with me forever. In perfect clarity.

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.