don’t you just love the smell of his skin…it’s almost toxic in how addictive it can be to wake up, roll into him, feel the overwhelming warmth of his skin next to yours, the scruff of his face, the way the two of you wrap your legs around each other in such a way that you are both lazy and intimate as your cheek lay against his chest and you inhale him, then as soon as you want it to be, his hands are resting on your hips and his lips are brushing against he softness of your belly.
my own skin smells of coconut and vanilla as i write tonight, and i have freckles that have found their way up my arms and randomly on my legs and back. lines are slowing being drawn to my eyes and the sun has left its imprint over the years, but when i laugh, it’s real, and when i look at you, it’s honest.
i like the way you sink into your book late at night and i like how i curl into the crook of your arm before i sleep. i like knowing you are near as i drift off then being able to slowly turn over onto my side and dream quietly.
you still don’t know me fully but it’s all in the journey, and with you i’ve found i am more of me. i am learning, i am piecing together the lovely puzzle that is you. i see you and i think of a lifetime. i see my body curving to welcome our new life and i feel myself breathing more easily when you walk in the door.
there are some dreams that i’ve had… looking down and seeing my hand tucked into yours? that’s one. sitting out in the middle of nowhere or the middle of everywhere and looking up into your eyes with complete trust? that’s another. knowing that i can chase my dreams and you can chase yours and at the end of the day, we are each other’s soft place to fall? i exhale.
there is this dream of somewhere i’ve never traveled
written by a poet in a faded bound book discovered many years ago.
i wanted you. whoever you are. whoever you shall be. someday.
when god lets my body be from each brave eye shall sprout a tree fruit that dangles therefrom the purpled world will dance upon between my lips which did sing a rose shall beget the spring that maidens whom passion wastes will lay between their little breasts my strong fingers beneath the snow into strenuous birds shall go my love walking in the grass their wings will touch with her face and all the while shall my heart be with the bulge and nuzzle of the sea ~ ee cummings