my body. beneath the skin's surface. not quite touching muscle. there is a constant energy. a flow. a quiver. a pulse. a desire to be touched by you. fingertips, tongue, lips. those hands. dark eyes that see me. a sensation heightened when we are together. warm with knowledge and strength. then the world interrupts. distracts. separates. withdrawl sets in. 

until our next time...

Where the weight of the air feeds the soil.

Where my man laughs and smiles.

Where he rides for hours in solitude, appreciating the world around him.

Where we have watched from above kayaks on St. John in the golden light of sunset.

Where there are three seasons: crawfish, grilling, and gumbo.

Where my mind is calm and my soul finds peace.

Where I belong.

Where I'm striving to return.

i miss the late night banter that would rock me to sleep. watching the words scroll by. intimate, yet public. fresh and witty. supple and warm. strangers becoming friends during logged in minutes, which without notice could become hours. 

a fellow chatter characterized what was going on as jazz. could have been a pick-up line, but his characterization holds merit. language has a rhythm, a sensuality. a cool medium that burns hot. each instrument listening to and playing off of one another. an assortment of talents and sound, building from where one left off, then back to the note or chord someone had shared for another to improvise. to inspire. 

i miss being able to sit back to just watch the exchange. interspersed with a charming whisper with a friend, here and there. being part of this community i've found myself contributing more to keep the scroll active, which is not my nature. 

be the change you want to see in the room... 

Since we met, I have:

Eaten pimento cheese, and other assorted delicacies
Watched my first John Wayne movie
Learned the joys of Wii and Spades
Co-hosted a Super Bowl party
Experienced the consequences of imbibing wine, vodka, hard cider, and bourbon in the same evening
Danced in a tall man's arms
Snored when feeling safe and warm in those same arms
Laughed and sang when beneath bedcovers
Met Penn Cage and his lovely father
Walked in the Gulf surf
Been introduced to the song "New Orleans Ladies" as requested by a Cowboy in a room full of friends and strangers
Become less intense
Expanded and strengthened a work of fiction
Cried when I didn't want to
Smile at the sound of your voice...

Passion is at the breakfast table in the morning. It is feeling your thighs get warm from just the sound of his voice. It has a memory of every touch, of every taste, of words and music. It is alive and grows every day and night, even in our sleep. It holds the trust not to cause harm and provides a safe space to share. It is honest and wise. And when it finds you, it will set you on fire...