Because today: I am stuck in yesterday.
I am stuck on your lips- such a gentle, quiet movement- resting on my neck. I am stuck on the feel of your palm drawing lines from my ankles to my hips, and back again, up again, back, up, again.
And your legs pushing against mine. The contrast of your paled skin against my skin that has sat beneath too many rays of sun and seems to be slightly burnished year round.
I used to think I could write you out of me, and that thought consistently collided with a fear that, yes, I'd someday be able to write you out of me- without ever touching you.
Now, I can't feel fear. I can only feel you. Your touch and mine, slinking together. Your hands in my hair- somehow always a surprise sensation. Our hips mashing as one. Those deeply-rooted kisses that come like bolts of lighting in the midst of rainstorms. And I feel the tremble of our thunder just was well as I hear it- low, lulling rolls that engorge with- there's no other word for it- passion.
Is this what it's like to live in the moment, the eternal here & now? Fuck, I have been missing so very much.
I realize that I won't write you out of me because a little over twelve hours later, I can still feel you inside of me.
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