I’m a bit of a sensualist.

First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.

Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.

Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble that you just want to run your hands over.

And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm, firm, implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.

“Sensuality's connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
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Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE
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Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).

I walk the evening streets
Familiar, impartial yet distant
I overtake the blocks
Waiting for silky thoughts
That may compel my heart
To intensify my freedom
Streets give meaning
To stores, shops and stalls
To lamp posts, signs and traffic lights
Where would they be without streets
A sense of observation tickles my spine
I stop walking and sit on a bench
What to observe I say to myself
How about that woman wearing a shawl
Window shopping with hankering eyes
Or that little boy jumping around
Agitating the passers-by
Between the curves of the woman
And the unbridled energy of the youth
I get confused
Which one would boost my freedom
Then my attention is diverted
Toward a quiet mutt
Observing with knowing eyes
Affording me a sly glance
I get up and start to walk again
Only to stop at a pastry shop
The smell is enticing
Inviting me to go in and get
Some marmalade, toast and tea
But the fire is overwhelming
The fire of freedom
Imploding my intent to smithereens
Sapping the joy out of my desire
After all the turns and twists of evening
After the delays and distractions
How should I maintain my traction
I shall walk and walk and walk
Till my mind loses gravity
Till I no longer carry the freight
Of thoughts, stories and traits
Then can I say
I have rendered the evening obsolete
Lifted its veil and tossed it
Over the stretch of streets
Then can I say I am free.

Love is gazing
Not at someone
But into them
Marveling at
The colors
Of their soul.

Love is patient
It understands
Why it waits
Or rather,
Who it is
Waiting for.

Love is heaven
It conquers all
Even mortality
Meaning that
The truest lovers
Shall never part.

They will find each other.
In a heaven so picturesque
It might as well be made
With the ethereal colors
That each one knows
Within the other's eyes.

The amount of time it takes
to traverse the distance between two points regulates the definition of our concept of time

The shorter the distance the faster time flys
The greater the distance a moment in time takes becomes eternal unless it encounters an obstruction
It takes light years to measure the time between the stars
It's instant from eye to nose
In a black hole time stands still held by the immense gravational pull .
We see time measured in the distance by light
Without light would there be any time ?
Only God knows
Let there be light .

the girls I danced with
I never wrote songs about

the girls I kissed under bursts of fireworks
I never won carnival prizes for

the girls I entered the sheets with
I never made a deeper connection

the girls who gave me their best
I never understood their motives

and I wondered where they all went and
why we parted ways like cathedral doors
and why they took the hand of other monsters and vanished into the night.

I was too naive to notice
all the red flags waving behind me
and too dense to turn around
and open my eyes.

but now I face this dry vacancy
and I see they’re
intertwined with their domestics
constricted with their marriages
taunting their husbands
commanding their boyfriends
obsessed with their photo albums
cramming belief and guidance into their children

its the same unabridged story
told over and over
and over and over
again.

I too, sit with this adverse outcome:
this one wants me to quit drinking
and that one wants me on a diet
and this one wants me to get a better job
and that one wants me to exercise more.

I’ve never been one to rest on my laurels,
but as I lay down in this bed with this one
like so many buried cold beneath the Earth,
I can’t stop thinking of those angels from my past that have flown off into other heavens.

I was never deserving
of their time nor
their presence

and I am neither
here nor
there.

Begin with “Life is a journey,” or
“Time is a river,”
or something about stars.

Mention the heart—
how it breaks,
how it mends,
how it’s brave,
how it bends.

Say “you are enough”
in a way that sounds new
(but isn’t).

Include a flower.
Or a child.
Or a sunrise that doesn’t judge you.

Avoid sharp things—
no teeth,
no blood,
no ***,
no history.

Make sure it ends
with a soft exhale,
a bow-tied truth
no one has to feel.

Then title it something
like Breathe
or Unfold.

And wait
for the shares.