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i want to know you…

I want to know what kind of man you are beneath the surface.

I want to understand what makes your heart beat faster and what you love. What makes you mad, and why it has that power over you.

I want to learn if your anger is hot and quick like mine, or a lingering coldness that freezes those who invoke your wrath. Do you forgive them when the red mist subsides, or do you hold a grudge through all of eternity?

I wish I could know how you see me through those quiet eyes of yours. I want you to tell me if you long to stroke my hair as we drift off to sleep, or if it’s my curves that your hands ache for. I wonder if you would message me goodnight before bed, so that I would never close my eyes without knowing that I was loved. Perhaps you would expect my heart to know that already, simply by the way your face lights up at the sight of mine.

What do you dream of when you close your eyes? Do you sleep peacefully until the light dapples your skin through the blinds, or do the tigers prowl around your head, leaving you shivering in fear in the darkness?

When you are lonely, do you ever think about my smile, or the way that I always know how to still the demons that scream inside you? I wonder if I am still vivid in your awareness, or a distant memory now; a spectre bathed in the gentle lustre of nostalgia.

Do you chase sunsets or sunrises? I love both. Does the promise of a shimmering new dawn appeal to you more than the glow of another day closing in a riot of colour? I wonder where peace finds you. Will you drink hot tea with me as the sun blazes through the horizon, reminding us of the fleeting nature of this life? I think I would like that.

I want to learn if you prefer the bright crackle of a burning log fire, snuggled up in blankets against the cold, or the way that the sun plays upon warm limbs, making them glow golden in the afternoon light. Is it summer that brings a smile to those lips I covet, or would you rather turn your face up to taste the snowflakes as they fall?

I watch to see if you curse the fact that you cannot get to work in the snow, or if you roll up your sleeves joyfully to build a snowman. And if you do, I notice whether you give him a stone mouth so that he might smile upon the children that wave as they pass him by.

Do you ever fantasise about losing yourself, out there, in the world? Do you seek the quiet solitude of a wooden log cabin on the edge of a lake, or do you prefer the lights and glamour of cocktail dresses in a fancy room full of raucous laughter?Where do you want to go? What do you want to see?

Do you hear it when adventure calls out your name and more importantly, do you answer?

I want to know where you hide, when the world becomes too much to bear.

Where do you take your freedom?

Is there space for another in your haven, or can I follow you only so far, then settle patiently to await your return to me; the reunion all the sweeter for your absence.

See, I wanna know if you have hurt people. Did their tears rain on your heart, each drop a sharp stinging torment? I try to imagine if you wear a mask of hardness in the face of another’s pain, or if you are gentle as you ask for forgiveness. Do you bleed through another’s wounds? Can you?

Tell me how you have broken someone you loved, and whether you were able to fix them again. Did they love you still when the pieces were put back together? What horrors live in the bleakest corners of your soul? What do you think about when you go there?

I want to know the very worst of you.

Share with me the music that plays in your heart, and whether you dance to the beat of your own drum. Show me the colour of your love. If you could splash its brightness onto a waiting canvas, would it burn with passionate reds and oranges, or would it run still and strong in a cool turquoise calm?

Tell me if you kiss softly, your lips singing mine a gentle lullaby, or whether they would rage intently, scorching new pathways to my heart with a desire that refuses be stilled. I want to feel it either way.

Show me if you want a sweet girl, or a dirty one. Or a little of each. What makes you cry out in ecstasy? Is it a woman that makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, or one whose beauty takes your breath away with a single look? Do you look for the quirky ones, perhaps? The ones who are too easily overlooked, the hidden treasures?

Tell me, would you risk it all for love? Would you fight for what you truly want, or would you let it slip away into nothing, never knowing what might have been, because you never told her that your heart beat only for her? Did you ever realise she was waiting for you to fight for her? Will you watch someone else love her because you were too afraid to be vulnerable with her?

Will you settle for next best, the girl you could maybe grow to love someday, instead of the one that haunts your thoughts today? Is that enough for you? Maybe it is. Could you live with yourself knowing that she got away?

Tell me about a time that you cried until you couldn’t breathe anymore. Or where you lived through a day where you prayed for the sweet release of death. Did you make it through? I have been there. Has your heart been broken into a million tiny pieces and, if it has, has it made you hard? Or are you are still open to the beauty that the world holds for you?

Show me your pain and I will show you mine. I hope it does not scare you. It has helped me to grow.

I want to know if you talk to the glittering stars above us, and which one is special to you. What do you think happens when we die? Do we join their shining ranks in heaven or is there nothing left for us? Are you afraid of death? I am. Will you hold my hand if I leave you first? If you whisper to me that love knows no boundaries, not even death, will you mean it?

Tell me about your childhood. I want to know the way your mother’s hair smelled when you crawled exhausted into her lap, and the way your bedroom looked when you were 10. Did your father cry when you curled a tiny fist around his finger for the very first time? I bet he did. I want to know all the people that you have loved throughout your life, so that I might love them through you and with you.

Do you write? Do you draw? I want to know whether you ache to capture my face with your pencil, preserving the wonder that lingers softly there. Do you like to express yourself through words, or action best? Will your hands illustrate your story as you speak and will I know that you are lying from the way your lips tremble gently as the words tumble guiltily from them?

What is your favourite book? Explain to me why it enraptures you so. Please? It tells me a lot about you. I love the way people cry when their favourite character breaks their heart, as though they are an old friend to be adored. Who is yours? I will seek them out and befriend them to understand why they have moved you so much.

Lend me your secrets. I’ll keep them safe and I’ll return them when my picture of you is complete. Whisper into my ear so that only us two may share them. Do you believe in magic? I do, now that I have met you.

Tell me your story, for it might well become part of my story. Let me in. Let me see you. All of you.

I want to know you.

— JoJo Rowden —

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giving and being…

giving and being

She always had that about her, that look of otherness,
of eyes that see things much too far,
and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.

— Joanne Harris —

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out of the crowd…

1.
Out of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently to me,
Whispering, I love you; before long I die:
I have travelled a long way, merely to look on you, to touch you:
For I could not die till I once looked on you,
For I feared I might afterward lose you.

2.
Now we have met, we have looked, we are safe;
Return in peace to the ocean, my love;
I too am part of that ocean, my love—we are not so much separated;
Behold the great rondure—the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,
As for an hour carrying us diverse—yet cannot carry us diverse for ever;
Be not impatient—a little space—know you, I salute the air, the ocean,
and the land,
Every day, at sundown, for your dear sake, my love.

— Walt Whitman —

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tiny, beautiful things…

I take my time undressing you. I know your eyes are on me – intent and trusting – and I resist the urge to fall into your gaze. I want to enjoy this first. I want to drink you in with my fingers. I want you to feel me devour you with my eyes. I need you to feel the tender adoration of my touch. I want us to taste the promises floating in the air.

My bold nipples brush up against the goosebumps of your cooling flesh. This whisper between us compels me to look into your eyes and softly say, “Hi.” The sound of my voice triggers ripples of pleasure down your spine, ending at the head of your cock – minor explosions foreshadowing… everything.

It’s a strange feeling, this next moment: knowing exactly what I want and having no idea what to do to get it. And so we stand before one another. So very naked. So very still. Seeing and being seen. The miniscule space between us defying physics with all that fills it. This tension is delicious. I ache with it all, too.

A new dance begins: our gazes part and return as our hands slowly trace the other’s outline – suspended in the spirit more than on our actual skin. Even though your hands don’t actually touch me, I am moved. Deeply. I feel myself warm as your hands float over and around me. The back of my hands, my palms and wrists are mirror to yours – only mine are dancing in their own tempo, swooping and divining where you most need me – those places you secretly fear I may find.

Finally, our fingers entwine and pulling me to you, your head tilts, your lips part and you kiss me. What early pause and restraint there may have been is no more. This kiss is a game-changer. This kiss removes the blinders.

You pull me in by my lower lip and then my upper. I hungrily taste your tongue and suckle you deep in my mouth. Back and forth, sweeping and searching, we are nothing short of enthusiastic. Of course, our hands now find their way around the other. You pull me so close, it’s like you’re already filling me. You feel the urgency of my own grip – against your broad back, and as your ass cheeks spread that little bit when I grasp them to draw your body even closer.

You pull away suddenly, your eyes wide, looking into me. “I can smell you!” I laugh with delight and blush. My voice husky replies, “But can you taste me?” It’s like a rubber band snaps: you scoop me up – I am light as a feather – the certainty of your desire empowers you (and fuck, are you ever glorious, my sweet).

Somehow your tongue and your fingers manage to stop Time. I know this is a bed. I know that is the ceiling above us.  But why does it feel like we are more than just a man and a woman, gasping and grasping the Mystery of (our) Pleasure?

I want to ask you this, I want to hear your sexy mind at work. But all I can do is splay my legs and grip your hair with reaching fingers. All I can do is moan and arch my back with toes spread and curled. All I can do is pant with an open mouth. I cannot speak your name even though it is the only word occupying my simple brain. All I can do is return to your eyes and then find myself transported once more.

When you finally do enter me, when your beautiful cock pumps forth my honey-wet, I am all yours. There is no one else. My hair is drenched from our exertion, your jaw clenches with the powerful clarity of our mutual need. You are so beautiful in this moment. My heart opens and in this, you choose to mirror me. My eyes tear up from the beauty of what I thought could never be.

You understand this – it spurs you on, and inspires a verve in you that I haven’t seen before. I have never felt so free. The power of your thrusts echo through our bones. The depths of my pussy’s walls begin to pulse, gripping the growing thickness you are inside me. Our silence is a thing of the past.

Our cries are feral. Honest. Pure.
This is the light that cleanses, that heals.
This, my sweet love is you and me,
Together.