What attracts me to you.
As I stood in the middle of your peach thighs, the refrain of Billie Holiday fresh in the air, my rosey tips, lovely toes, curling jasmine scented air. The coffee smells fresh and I am holding our space, as are you, with freckle sensation and scruffy jaw. I don’t have my glasses on, so can’t make out features, but can trace your eyes, cheeks, like a sculptor. Time makes it richer, the colors, appreciation, beauty.
The laughter of ordinary flirting, the claim of heart caring. There are a thousand and one billowing moments of connection. Willingness, emotional attunement, is sexy as hell. And, on those days we don’t like each other, coming back together is such a gift.
When you grasp the edge and hold on, looking to me again and again, it’s not for answers but to connect. When I’m upside down, too busy to move, and I look to you, it’s not to fix, but to connect.
When we work on ourselves, be autonomous in our own arena and meet again in a different time, different place, each day is a new day of sparkly fire-breathing safety. We get to be ourselves, loved and connected with, for who we are, not who we will become or where we’ve been.
Listening to me rhapsodize about things that don’t interest you, except that you love the joy and passion I have. Listening to you poetically describe things that are impossible for me to grasp, love’s tapestry doesn’t care. Submerging together means root connection of flow, flaws and focus.
It continues to get deeper. That connection, which started out as pheromones and eye-fucking, letting it grow and steep and blossom, this road we travel holds compassion, joy for myself and others. Tranquilized time, love is such a partial, incomplete word. If I could paint the connection, the vibrancy of color, the silver to grey, midnight blue to the lightest sky, and deep red to purple.
Love is life. Connection is the breath to that love. Sexuality is the sigh in between.