Perhaps the most important things in our lives are the ones deepest buried in the snow. In our bodies, our arms, our promises. We’re afraid they’re not nice, that they’ll change our looks – our eyes – even as we’re transformed.
The beauty is all of the things we don’t know. It’s finding someone to teach you the way, who wants to let you in. It’s the look in their eye, the tone of the voice, the things they want you to know in secret.
Lust is confidence. It’s only for us. It’s segmented, the body splitting time and piece. It’s all of us poured into each other.
It’s the magic of change. The finding of the words that don’t even make sense in our language. The beauty of connection – carried away in a tongue nobody else would recognize.
It’s beds. And underwear. Perfume. The ache of waiting. The hush of noise. The melt of bodies. I couldn’t even tell you, or imagine how we do without, but the body given – the touch received.
How could you go back after a face like that? How can anyone unmake a kiss?
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