there is no one who i’d like to curl up next to more than lovely you.
there is no one who i’d like to curl up next to more than lovely you.
the magical ebb and flow of me and you a crushing ease– the mysterious pain of realization– an unintended understanding of the bigness of our oneness. a union which neither of us could have possibly anticipated– the journey of two separate pieces, complete and continuously forming and un-forming to become more. moving together, …
i want to enjoy every moment of you– never move into a place where who you are is anything less than perfectly beautiful. i want to know you like the back of my hand. i’m beginning to know you like the back of my hand. the space between us creates a distinct and enduring …
an instant connection easy and familiar grounded in a similar intelligence– and perfectly imperfect in its inception and duration. a snapshot of a moment shared and remembered added to the chronicle of experiences within the overarching production that is pickathon.
the function of time and space an illusion of separation the idea that we exist without one another– impossible my heart inextricably tied and bound in beauty and devotion past this physical plane of existence– past the point of human comprehension the madness of imagination the only logic that allows sense to be …
your dark and thoughtful eyes a raging river rushing behind them– reading your thoughts unconsciously understanding the language behind your carefully chosen words. your tongue loosened and unguarded only when foreign substances give consent. you leave me breathless with your barrage of words– struggling to hold onto the smallest pieces of them. tucking them into …
the intricate curve of roads unravelling beneath me– rivers like tendrils winding to their conclusion– all laid bare above the clouds– a mysterious floating, the technology of imagination– harnessed and exploited past the point of recognition. the mediocrity of humanity surrounding– the miraculous becomes mundane– blackens the beauty encapsulating. sprawling creation down below– routines …
the sound of my boy’s laughter tumbling across the floors and ceilings through the hallway and under the door– the ease of three generations co-existing– quiet certainty of a love that has always been and will always be– from latency a hand on the belly– small kicks and a waiting game– breathless anticipation for the …
your perfectly unprotected form defenses down, exuding innocence and beauty– the gentle curve of your shoulders– a silent tribute to adolescence and a boy who still peeks out from behind the eyes of a man. the soft rhythmic movement of life rippling through your cells– each one perfectly formed and singing in concert– professing …
There are moments when i’m with you– a smile refusing to release its hold on the edges of my mouth– my heart soaring with what can only be my deepening devotion– when i’m overcome by the increasing power you hold over me– though you’ve asked for nothing. I listen to your careful soliloquies on …
the edges of myself 