The problem with loving you, is that I do. I’ve never stopped and I press it down like extracting oil from an olive. Cold pressed and refined, under the pressure I put on myself. I will not allow it to creep into my life, not in a real way. I can’t. I won’t. I will not love you and lose myself and so I hide it. Keep it contained. I will not allow the passionate flame to burn out of control. Because I have no control when I am with you. Control? The idea is laughable. Gone. Lost. Imagined. Never was or will be.
You consume me and ravage me and take more than my body every time I see you. You take my soul into your hand and I’m not even sure you know you do though part of me fears you are well aware of it, because you can read me. You give me exactly what I need and no words are exchanged. You know every single nuance of my flesh and somehow I am to believe that we have a simple sexual connection.
God. It’s a lie I can’t even believe it when I say it to myself. To look at you brings me joy. Simple and undiluted, unrefined joy. It saturates me with lust. Your body is perfect and I can’t not touch you. Your face. Your face makes my stomach flutter even after all this time. When I see you I contract. My stomach tightens, my uterus clenches, my heart squeezes with the faster beat and my eyes dilate. You are responsible for the vascular constriction of my entire system. And kissing you doubles everything. Blurs everything. Makes everything clear.
The feel of your rough beard against my face. The scratch of stubble on your shaved head. All of that magnifies every sensation skittering across my flesh like an intricate sound system where the base and treble are perfectly set to reverberate and surround you inside violent internal sensations. I love you with a fierce sureness that will last me until my last breath is drawn and I am positive that I will never be able to find the physical connection I share with you, with any other man. I don’t even want to. Can’t even imagine it.
What do you do when you acknowledge your weakness, your sin? What do you do when you know you are fallible and unable to remove what’s been joined together or found after a lifetime of searching? When it’s wrong. Completely wrong and incapable of supporting itself in a worthy or realistic fashion. Yet even the knowing can’t stop you from the needing. From the brief glimpses of the sweet reality you hide and into your otherwise structured and formed life of routine and disappointments.