As he wanders back into my life...

I love the way his skin feels, his shoulders showing too many hours in the sun.

I love the way he he rumbles when you scratch his back, like a bear awakening from hibernation.

I love the way he looks at me with this intense stare when his fingers are slowing lowering the straps to my camisole.

I love way he enjoys his family in the manner so similar to my own.

I love that he likes to read and gives me recommendations.

I love his interest in wine and that he can actually taste the differences.

I love how he wakes me up in the morning, still half asleep his body curling into mine and his fingers finding all the right places.

I love how thoughtful he can be.

I love his love for football.

I love how he loves on his dog.

I love his insecurities and that we have similar shitty pasts.

I love that he is such a good friend to his friends.

I love the way he dances.

I love the way he sucks in my bottom lip when he kisses me.

I hate his inability to accept love and allow good things to happen or is that what I hate in myself.

One of us has to take the first step.

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Body High

I’m not sure what has gotten into me.

Funny I would choose that sentence. One my mother would have used to describe me as a child when I was misbehaving. But I think it’s appropriate in this particular moment.

My body is buzzing from within. It has its own agenda and is not consulting my brain for guidance. Hell, it’s not consulting me for anything. This feeling has taken over, consuming my thoughts and distracting me from life. It is forcing me to make decisions I would normally never entertain, at least not in the light of day. It’s somehow reading my subconscious and acting on it without consequence.

I’m finding myself in circumstances completely unlike me, yet just like me. Moments that make me smile for days after. That make me yearn for more. I sit outside my body, listening and watching myself ask for what I want without fear or shame. Enjoying the spoils of these risks and becoming braver each day. And the more I do, the more I want. The feeling grows stronger the more I feed it and I don’t want to stop.

And that, that feeling of not reigning in this beast is the scariest of them all.

Contentment

The feel of his hand on the small of my back. His fingers drumming against my skin to the beat of the music. His body protecting mine against the crowd. Leaning into him, the solidness of an oak holding me there. Holding me present, not allowing me to completely focus on the band. My thoughts dance between the feel of his touch and the feel of the bass reverberating through my body, the mixture of the two is intoxicating. He leans down to hear what I have to say, his ear and neck so dangerously close to my lips that I have to consciously hold myself back from kissing him each time. I fail on occasion.

I Want...

I’m crawling out of my skin. I need a fix... a human fix. I want to touch a being, kiss a soul, bite flesh and breathe in the need for me as I exhale the need for them. I want to lose my bearing and direction as I tumble and tangle myself in another. Standard language is unrecognizable as moans and sighs become prevalent. Hunger is the goal and fulfillment the action of every movement and want. I need it to be rough, and passionate, and tenderly painful. I want bruises that are kissed in the morning’s light. I want tender lips, that when traced by my fingertips, elicit secret smiles that everyone around me wants to know. I want laughter and hugs that know no end. I want toes touching as we sleep and waking with your body wanting more. And I want to repeat it all again.