I kept looking into faces for yours today.
It was a search I didn’t know I was on, until it came up short…
She scanned the crowds, always. She stopped herself, once.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.
Two women stand an arms length apart breathing in harmony in the darkness.
The oiled floor is silent under their feet. The windows reflect postures, shifting positions, stretches of subtle and fluid awakening.
The outside world holds the secrets of the prairie in silence until the sun rises,
It is very early. The dumbstruck voice of darkness before the dawn is like no other.
Enveloping the two women in the rocking womb of the day, the silence is welcomed. Measured movement and paired breath introduces the good of the earth to the face of day through firmly rooted toes and soles.
With arms and elbows locked to the highest point of reach, the two then bend like grasses in the summer wind and sway back and forth. Intentions are set and energy flows between them, half-lift, fall forward, rise up, greet the light.
Red tulips on slender stems, loving women reach from heart and head to capture serenity and create a sea of calm in the crevasse of unsatisfied desire to secure a peace-filled place in the world of decisions.
Time brings each down the path into this. And it cannot be stopped. But it can, and is, embraced.
The sun, she loves.
You are so compelling, so charming.
You sway me, easily, with your enthusiasm
as the sweet talk of your fingertip seduces my hand.
Your heart song strums the bones of my wrists,
tracing, dangerously playing your way into my head.
I want to dance for you…yes.
And to spin, twirl, to float-
with the certainty of impending pleasure.
I want to be what you need in that moment-
oh, so kissable.
And to me you may bring,
your mouth to my eyelids,
she strength of your hands to my face.
Cradled, caressed, surrendering in graceful abandon,
collapsing in weak-kneed response,
all beginning with those kisses,
in rare treasured moments of
extended sensual connection.
The world does not permit enough touch. It is regulated, watched, frowned upon. Little hugging, less kissing, all of us starving for sensual, touch-filled communication. And more.
Don’t (just) fall for my words.
(I write. It’s what I do.)
Please wait until we meet,
feel my authentic self,
slowly savor me.
(Savor: one of my favorite words)
Then we can decide (together) if we wish to fall forward.
Or take the easy path
and save ourselves
from feeling anything.at.all.
She had taken the easy road before. That was then.
What are those tiny turns of memories of time together that create a physical response in the current minute?
No matter where we are, they find us and take us by surprise at the sweetness of the gentle swoon we let ourselves have in response.
It’s the falling feeling I cannot deny, despite sitting in my office or driving down the road.
It holds me for a split second and takes away the controlled state of emotion I am required to attend when operating in my role in this functioning but passionless society.
Do you know the ones?
The images the mind pulls forth of a lover’s eyes as he sees you rise above him, when you can recall his sounds escaping over your shoulder whispering in your ear, those guttural, wordless, accepting sounds of a body enveloping his heat, and then the repeat- the over and the over.
It’s the depth of that mind-numbing ache in the center of the chest, fluttering in circles, a twirling dance of shared moments pulled from a look or a few words from any time before right now.
And as these connections linger in our lungs and make us stop to swallow, we lean heavy into the back of the nearest chair. We let ourselves drift helplessly while those memories feed the will to capture the same physical response if not the next day, then certainly the next hour.
Core responses should not be ignored nor taken for granted.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Image from the archives of RMP.