How I feel with Apologies to James Joyce

What is it about you that entrances me? The sweet smell of your skin, the taste of that small hollow at the base of your throat – I can just see it peeking out from your collar in the pictures from the wedding - beckoning me to come and play again. All around this spiritual love I have for you there is also a wild craving for every inch of your body, for the feel of you in my hands, for knowledge of every secret part, for understanding how each inch of you reacts when you are happy, when you are tired, when you are comforted. My body remembers you, at a primal level that is more about feeling safe than recently satisfied when I am with you. I have to laugh, when you worry that I might forget how you feel – I am more worried that I can’t stop remembering.

But is it really just the physicallity of you that has captured me, with tethers that have allowed me free movement? Physical needs alone would feel familiar. I know how to handle infatuation - the condition of lonely deception that encourages people to pair even though it is not real. I know how to feel when it is just about sex, but this is much more intimate. I feel both intrigued and vulnerable – like I have rolled onto my back in submission, exposing my jugular vein to you. Even in talking about corporal intimacies, there is a deeper connection that makes it sacred rather than profane. Things I would never discuss over the phone have flowed from me as repeatedly I choose to say what I really think, sometimes surprising myself.

It is your thoughts that make me hunger for more. If I could never touch you again, I would still need to hear your voice. The things you feel passionately about, the machinations that hold your interest, the verbal sparring and quick wit that make me come back for more. I have a thousand excuses not to believe this is real, and who would blame either of us since we have already endured so much. None of those excuses stops me from wanting to talk to you hours on end just to see what you might say. Exploring what you think since I cannot explore how you feel. I close my eyes most of the time, just basking in the sound of your words on my ears. And they touch me when you cannot, my body warm with thoughts of laying in your arms, breathing you in. I love that as the night wears on, I can hear the change in the cadence and tone of your voice as you look at the time and realize I am up way too late. Your words become softer, the sound deeper, like a song I recognize but can’t quite remember.