There are subtle moments of intimacy in which I let myself touch the face of someone else and I can feel their grip tighten. It’s then that they get excited and start claiming me property. It shows in their body and there’s that expectant gaze that strangles everything I had just been joking towards.
I hope this isn’t the case with all those I don’t mind though. I hope I’m nothing that climbs in deep and smothers. I hope my words don’t torment and stifle. I hope I’m nothing more than they can handle. I hope I’m just fit for collaboration. I hope they can expand their thinking, if only to include me.
All this talk about romance has me a bit baffled too. Because the ones that work, just work, and there’s no explaining that. So when someone bends over backwards, trying to find fault in someone I fancy just fine, I sit back and roar. I roll my eyes and say, “They’re like a boomerang and play just fine, thanks.”
Earlier in bed, I worried over the audibility of my sparked moaning. But then the dark treasures found in pink, raw skin, had me soothed and I was left swimming in my own sweat. In fact, this twenty minute parable was more like a quick dip in the ocean. I was rejuvenated because of it. It left me charmed.
Yesterday was a blurry sort of afternoon, in which I took Ansel to the park and we laughed and talked and let the sun melt us. We mostly just walked around and let ourselves bleed into nonexistence. It was the light in our heart, that brought us back though. Our passions were our path to most everything.