I am still faithfully following petals as paths with my soul’s whispered directions to where you are at, the one to reciprocate all this love I have, and along the way, I’ve grown to love the way I am.
Give me a palm, let me be your fortune, telling you again and again how much I adore you. Let me lead the way to our private island where coastal tracks in rocks and sand and wildflowers map where the ocean unravels as ripples in the bay. Take my hand. Stay.
Yellow and white wild blooms
I insist remain nameless
I contemplate picking for you
to arrange in sill sunlit,
but I can’t do it;
I keep them rooted
but skim their scent
over fingertips,
and a fallen one tuck
in a long, silky tress,
face tilted up,
b r e a t h i n g i n
this existence
in yellow floral dress;
the sun kisses shoulders,
and I sense your jealously
in our cottage
working remotely.
Heading back,
I hear the kettle whistling
cheerfully for me….
Close your eyes, and I will, too; feel me there, this touch brushing slowly over you, soft as an exhaled breath on flesh… fingertips, lips, smoothly caress, the gentlest skimming, hair trickling across chest, whispers float into your ear, melliferous voice delivering the elixir to each fear, sweet everythings that reach with flowing, warming heat every last heart-ailment to heal.
Feel me.
Into yours, my fingers weave; hands clasp organically. So easy it is to love, to release all inhibitions: free fall into me.
Wishie in the mist, condensed drops cling from fog’s gentle kiss to each infinitesimal pappus, delaying flight; heart’s desires desperately defy in the midst of this scandalous Victorian affair upon the moors as morning’s light denies lovers’ prayers.
Saving grace, whole heart back in your arms, you hold all of me as me; I never knew how non-words could feel the best route. Unspoken is our reset, mutual forgiveness, moving on but not leaving anything unaddressed. We understand, silent resolutions, in the simple language of love.
Do you mind if I stay extra near awhile, to just exist in this balance, a respite from the drama of being so much?
Sometimes (more often than not), I exhaust myself with this wild heart and wild soul I house.