i.
i write life on thin skin looking within for words that will make me less sensitive to the burn of existence.
i look for love inside and outside and up and down and sometimes i find it in the first place i looked and sometimes i find that what i was looking for is an illusion i cannot touch and in my confusion i trip over lust and fall into love.
sprained my ankle once and couldn’t get away from the eyes i erected in my mind and the free flow that i found in his words. his words reached out to my inner secrets brushed up against the innocence i was hiding even from myself.
his words chased me inside myself and i found out i was running from love into misery before he came.
his words would not let me escape from reality.
ii.
it’s all in the details baby girl, he said.
lay down. yeah. right there. no, no just lay there. i want to see you. i like to see your body waiting for me. put your arms down love. yeah. like that. just wait for me. i’m right here, no need to reach for me. i just
….want to see you.
looking at your toes, and this new polish pedicure fetish you developed to keep the attention of my mouth. let me…taste them… do you really like this better than… mmmmm. you got some big feet girl. sexy lil anklet…
to go with those strong calves, is it from driving a stick?
and them big thighs… thank god for Queens. not supersized or skinnified and i love your curves and the way your stomach sticks out despite all that sitting up you do.
keep jogging if you want to but don’t lose those hips or those ripe, ripe melons swinging like forbidden fruit before me… is that why you like my big hands, because i can hold a D-cup?
don’t cover your eyes…
Sweetie, why you getting all shy?
iii.
details. in the details. the way he looks at me with those eyes, 161 eyelashes on the end of the left eyelid. i counted once, have looked in his eyes that long every day we are together, long enough to count the eyelashes on the end of the left eyelid.
he breathes in such lovely spirals, i can see it when it’s cold and i just want to be in his air, hope always for that moment before the kiss where i will be wondering how long he’s going to let my hunger burn.
details. in the De-Tails. the details of the pores of the skin on his face.
that is the face i love, the face that bathes me in moonbeam streams of honesty. he loves so many places in me, inside me, all the things i think are flaws, he finds adorable….
details.
details of a long longing because i had gone almost 39 hours without his voice. i counted. yes, i counted.
details.
details of a sneaky memory telling my body what i want to forget until i see him again.
that i want him, that i desire his touch on my shoulder or my stomach or my knee or my eyes… just to have him caress me with his eyes…
details.
details of a lover’s flesh pressed against the best organ i have, skin, skin with nerve endings to tell me his love is real and on top of me and moving into me, and this memory bites me hard because he is not here and i only have my hands to comfort me, hands that are deft to speed me to the beginning of the end again and put me back at the end of the beginning, the end of the yearning that comes before the need to be touched, but not by myself, only a sorry sorry substitute even when it’s electronic his worst performance is the emancipation of my loneliness and some of my life’s best because it’s so stained with the love that is overcoming us both on his face and in my eyes.
details. like at the start of an orgasm, the loudest lover i have ever had. and it charges me so to hear him sing the imminence of his physical inner madness that will explode inside me vibrating me from inside the canal of my love and drips down into my thighs and rides my blood into the rest of my body.
details.
details.
details……