I want to write a love letter. I want to describe to him how he looks beside me (I can only imagine). What it is like to hear myself speak to him, to ask if we can start slow, can I just touch... and look at him.
He watches me as I reach out to his body, I listen for the changes in his breath as I let myself go.... and be myself. Do what I wish, explore in little segments the living map of a man, the man like all men, essential and kind.
Be mine, I whisper to him with my caresses. I am yours I say to him with my eyes.
The lips coming together are a bridge between two worlds, the solitary becoming one.
More breathing, as though it never stops. Sounds of breath and the revelation of movement are as honest as God made us to be.
You are warm. My hand knows this. Your back curves, your shoulders curl and dance so slightly as I trace a part of you I have now met. Your eyes become shy when I touch you there, wider as I approach other places, eyes almost closed as I slip into the hidden places of you, parting you.
When I was a girl, I imagined us standing together, my arms around your neck as you danced with me to the slow music, kissed me... You knew how to make me a woman.
I am still waiting, my love. I long for you still.