For me, love means feeling.
How do I gather all these things
in one touch
of the intangible?
I must really be crazy
because I swear,
when I’m still,
and I submit to you
all quivering anticipation,
I feel the tingle of your touch upon my skin,
the whisper of your breath enmeshed with mine,
your fingers as they stroke the tender flesh of my heart.
Each moment with you
takes my breath away,
but I remind myself
to breathe anyway,
so I may experience you fully,
learn to lose myself in a moment,
to dissolve into pieces,
merge with your molecules,
our pregnant particles pirouetting
in graceful whirls,
like grateful worlds,
universes unto themselves,
spinning closer and closer,
yet refusing re-fusion,
despite the urge to embrace,
pushing and pulling,
in ultimate ecstasy,
as every molecule melts into the other,
rebuilding the “me” of a moment ago,
but inwardly altered,
by your touch.
A magnetic force that sustains me,
even when you’re not there.
Still I wait and I will,
to experience it all over again.
Love is the ultimate survival tool.
It is not your love for me that matters
as much as my love for you,
my capacity to love without any hope
of possessing my heart’s desire,
at least not in this lifetime.
means letting go of me,
lifting this flimsy veil between our worlds,
stretching through time and space,
just to get one glimpse,
of your Truth.