truth be told

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~ anais nin

i am a woman who has always craved touch and being touched.  someone who believes that life and love are never the same without that pressing of him against my back, or the way my hand likes to reach up to touch his warm, unshaven face in the morning, or walk by as he sits at the table and scratch his head in a way that makes his eyes close and a smile creep across his face, and he can’t help but then pull me onto his lap to kiss me.  i am a woman who finds the comfort in falling asleep with my face on his chest, or facing him, snuggled up in the circle of his long arms and legs until my eyes close for the night and i can turn over, sensing his nearness, knowing that just reaching over to touch his hand in the night will keep me warm.  knowing that he knows he can reach for me in the darkness and i will respond to him in kind.  i love the tangle of arms and legs and the way he can make me laugh when we are intimate.  when he is comfortable in his skin, and walks to the shower, i love to watch him walk away. those times when he and i are under the water together and i run the soapy lather across his back and he traces my curves with his hands   i love spontaneity in him when we are together and i don’t mean grand gestures…i like the small subtle things, where he grabs my hand as we are walking down the streets of the city, or how he’ll slip his arms around me and kiss the back of my neck when i’m not expecting it.  i love the little things in a man who means something to me, from a certain scar he has to the way his voice can soften me to the way he wears that old sweater and those boots that have seen it all.  how he likes the scent of cinnamon and clove on my skin when i come out of the bath and will chase me around while i laugh and eventually let him kiss me.  these are moments of intimacy that are different than words, intangible yet related to how i feel about him. our conversation and our thoughts and our sense of each other is at the root of it all but when i first see him and he simply grabs me and isn’t afraid to just plant one on me?  i am softened, i am sweet.  if he can make me giggle when he kisses my belly and if even our worst days we can still reach out and squeeze each other’s hand and just know? that’s what i mean, that’s what i feel, that’s what is real.  that’s what makes it all worthwhile.  knowing there will be that man, someday, who can forcibly push me against a wall in a way that makes me both catch my breath and move my hips, and at another moment quietly push the hair out of my face to look at me, look into me, settle me.  bring me to life in a way i haven’t been before, because it is simple, because there is ease, because we are, in that ee cummings type of way, for each other… where my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom.  

that’s who i am.

“I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.” ~ pablo neruda


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