Tag: love

For Kevin

How many times have I spoken to you,

Asked for you, cried for you,

Wondered if I would ever meet you.

Convincing myself content with alone,

Saying goodbye to my happily ever after.

And now you are here, with me,

A love I have never known.

Our breath one breath,

Our skin one skin,

Our hearts one heart.

No beginning, no end, just one.

Only minutes apart and my body aches,

Only minutes apart and my lips search,

Only minutes apart and my heart feels torn from its home.

Now with you,

I no longer speak to you in secret,

I no longer wonder where you are,

I no longer hope for a happily ever after,

For I am sure it is here.

In Your Breath

Flesh to flesh, soul to soul

Every little touch

Ignites a spark

Sets my nerves on fire.

 

Lying here next to you

Lips slightly parted

Sharing your breath

A paragraph escapes in a sigh

 

Sighs that say

You are the world to me

Sighs that say

We are one, body and soul

Sighs that say

My heart beats because of you

 

With each sigh

New promises made

With each sigh

New passions unleashed

With each sigh

New love grows

 

I need you like I need to breathe

One simple, single breath that says

I love you.

 

Love

I am swept off my feet, busy in the work of love, love-making.  Not sex, sex in its delights, sex in its love-giving, love-expressing, carnal and explosive, but the creation of love, a love space.  I am love-making, making a room, a space in my heart, to love another, revealing my inner being, my self, raw and vulnerable.  I am still, letting, seen, offering a gift, an invitation to enter my sacred space, to sit together in this space and see the world with a new light.

I look at this man, seeing his very core, learning, knowing and cherishing.  I explore his sacred space with tenderness, kindness, as a fragile vessel of splendor.  Here, together, in our scared spaces, in silent conversation, in unspoken dialogue. we say, “I see you and you are beautiful to me.”

Scent of a Man

For the first time in my life I am without a man.  I am without a man, a lover, a companion, a husband.  It has been a year since I felt the soft caresses and heard the utterances of love.  It has been a year, yet, I do not miss it.  I am, unperceivably and unpredictably, content and for once in my life, I am enough, not wanting, not needing, but enough.

Contentment, so rich, so new, it wants savoring.  I am drinking it in, present in my oneness, my wholeness.  For the first time, I utter the words, “ I am not ready to date, still transitioning,” and “I don’t want to date when I am fresh in my loneliness,” and “I want to  be settled first, not wanting to soothe this pain with men.”

For so many years I used men as salve, as bandages, as shields covering old scars and wounds.  I needed them in constant flow, unwilling, unable to look at those wounds. But now, after years of hard labor, I have stumbled on worthiness and enoughness.

So, I wait.  I wait and I discover new joys, joys of solitude, of stillness, of quiet.  I savor whole weekends without conversations, without commitments, without compromise.  I devote more time to my pets, writing, long walks, reading, making only food I love.  I devote time to making friends with this new territory, this new-found freedom, finding joys and peace hardly imagined.

The journey of solitude has been my greatest gift to myself, but I fear something is shifting.  I find myself now wondering what kind of man I will meet in my enoughness.  What kind of man will love someone worthy of love, someone already complete.  I find a small joy in imagining, this, wonderment being enough.

Now, as I walk through my home, the scent of man tickling my nose, bringing back the memory of a hand on my back, whispers on my neck, the want in my heart, I wonder if I am ready.  I take a deep breath, breath it in, the man scent, the smoke of it curling through my body.  I hover, over the leaflets from the Macys flyer, opened and scattered across my counter, filling my house with the sweet scent of man, taking it all in and wondering if it is time.  Oh, Macys, you have stirred the beast

Past Love

I don’t know why I think of you so often.  Many men since you have proclaimed me no longer precious, but you, you hurt the most.  Maybe you hurt the most because you were the first, the first to put me aside, the first to say I was not worthy, the first to say I was not loved.

Maybe you hurt the most because you are still near, entwined in my life, knotted by our tribe, so we speak oft about our common ground.

When we do speak, I am overjoyed to hear from you, despite its purpose, despite the fact you are all business.  I want to shout, “Oh! Let’s do be friends, lets do be kind and tender to each other!!”

And when you are tender, when you let slip a kindness, I cling to your words – your kind words are still precious to me, even when raked from the ones intended to hurt.

Maybe I think of you often because the last time we spoke, I was sure you were living the life you always wanted.  You were completely you- while the rest of us struggle to find our true selves, to find our unique space that fits like skin.  You are beautifully there, beautifully settled in your own skin.

I think about now if you met me fresh would you feel the same.  I wonder if you would say, “you remind me of someone I once knew, only your skin, your skin is different.”  I wonder if you would feel tender, gentle and kind or would I, once again, bring out your cruelty and disdain.

Often I think about you and wonder….