the only time I ever felt
intimate with you was that
one time you cooked me dinner
after we had done the dirty deed
and were watching a movie or
a documentary on your flatscreen TV
to be honest I don’t remember which
but your shallow breath was a slowing
hum against the nape of my neck
and all I felt in that moment was
your gradual loosening hold on
the curved silver of my waist
as you fell gently asleep, leaving me
to wonder if I could ever get used
i used to believe that intimacy was
i used to think that the joining of bodies together was
i used to think that lips should belong nowhere other than on someone
but now that i have grown into someone
i have come to realize that
making love is
because you stand there,
in a dimly-lit room,
besides your own
vulnerability to the person that makes your heart swell.
and i have not experienced that, yet.
but i know that when i do,
it will be with someone that shares a love with me so
because i do not believe that your innocence is something you should
you should hold onto it,
until it blissfully falls from your grasp.
there are so many ordinary things in life.
and so i believe that if you are lucky enough to find a love that makes
they had the same thing,
you should never let it go.
Intimacy begins with the most innocent of gestures
A curious smile
The lips speak a sweet word, yet not explicit; the intimacy prevails.
It hides behind soft kisses
a gentle touch
sometimes in your sublime presence alone the intimacy is far too much.
Intimacy is not behind closed doors
It does not always reside between sheets
It shows itself in a knowing look
In forests, shorelines, streets.
Intimacy sends you shivers through a written word or song
But between you and I it hasn't shown itself in far too long.
Your teeth graze my bottom lip to come to nip
the corner of my smile where you linger awhile
your breath, hot blooded sin, prickles on my skin
till every puckering pore has me begging for more
and your eyes lock with mine as our bodies intertwine.
Help me remember to forget.
makes me feel sick
knotting your hand in mine
adds more tangles to my self-loathing
and we speak only in tongues
we vomit the language of love
it's a pathetic thing
stripped bare are our bodies
beyond our control
it gets hot under these covers
though your eyes, and mine, remain cold
makes me feel sick
I'll repeat that still
let it smother my heartbeat
until I believe it
Romantically, it is when we lie in a pool of passion where dreams flood our souls and engulf our hearts. It is the climax of all infatuations when lust changes into love.
In reality, it is much simpler.
It is when we reveal the rips on our jeans, the crumbs on our floor, that weird freckle on our backs, the shirts we have stolen, the keys we have lost, the dust on our shelves, the journals we wrote, the letters we never sent, the stories from our past, and the lives we thought we deserved.
Intimacy is the privilege to witness someone in their most vulnerable state, to accept all their blemishes, and somehow remain in utter bliss.
That my friend is intimacy.
Two bodies held by the gentle hands of passion
Legs entwined in a dance of sin
Fingers roaming unexplored places
breath warming soft skin
Dusk's kiss of nostalgic light bleeds softly into the room
The evening is so still, but in this place bodies move
Love spilled all over and held inside, tightly
Intimacy is only a word