She is not what I would have wanted to choose for myself (note: this is not to say she is not what I want. she is.)
I want her.
I love men’s bodies.
Avoid the fantasizing that creates fissures in your heart, that allows false hope to slip in; take root; subjugate you to actions more false than foul, more ephemeral than concrete, more lost than found
I won’t win you. You are not a prize to be won
The wafting scent Oak and smoke and peat Drifting up and drawing me in I can taste in the vapor The impending satisfaction The forthcoming soothing of all my troubles You’re like that first taste Anticipation nearly (but not quite) As good As the having
I enter the bedroom, lit only by a sliver of light peeking through a misaligned shade and I am frozen by the sight of you, a dark blanket made of night slung over your hips and slipped off your shoulder to reveal the glowing curve of your breast and the hint of a pebbled edge…
My hand anticipates the touch of yours A trembling pinky waiting for the subtle blessing of your thumb.
She found the word “exquisite” to be exciting. Each syllable building upon the last: the setup, the action, the exhalation of satisfaction. “You,” she said, “I find you to be exquisite. You, a complete scene of desire. You, a personification of passion.”
I love learning. It is the passion of my life, it serves as a purpose for my existence, and I have troubled myself in many, many ways in the pursuit of it. All my life I have searched for a way for all of it to make sense; something that draws it together, brings coherence … Continue reading