“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald
I speak your name and flowers emerge from my mouth. It’s hard to stay discreet this way, as it’s unlikely that anyone would mistake the petals for my teeth.
Sometimes I sway to the rythym of your heart, the beats dancing in my pocket where it’s been placed for safe keeping.
I rubbed coconut oil on my hands this morning making sure to also massage your cuticles. Sometimes I can still feel your hand gently caressing my face as you seductively kiss my cheek before saying goodnight. If I close my eyes and get still, I can feel the softness of your lips pressing against mine and the embrace of our breath from deep inside of our bellies.
You’re the most familiar stranger I’ve ever met.
There are days I feel almost desperate to love you. To reflect the majesty, brilliance, and sweetness that so clearly exists inside of you. I find myself feeling envious of the feelings you hold within your gentle heart. I want to hold them too. My soul aches in her desire to be a place of rest for yours. And…sometimes my skin feels lonely when the comfort of your touch is just out of reach.
I keep it tucked away though. The feelings. My heart has a heavy hand, and can sometimes pour too much too soon. Like a cap falling off of the salt shaker mid seasoning. I wonder how many dishes I’ve ruined with too much and ill timed salt.