There are times when I sit down and write without a goal or promise to myself. In that freeform mode of thinking (often fueled by whiskey) I write some interesting truths. A day or so later, I revisit the cathartic release to wrap my head around what was wrapped around my head. Sometimes, I leave what I’ve written untouched and unedited. Other times, I edit and present it to those that care to read it in hopes that my words resonate with an audience somewhere on the planet. For this week’s post, I’d like to share the (quasi edited for clarity, yet still the same as the first draft) freeform words that were inspired by a love from my past, a first kiss from a woman that sees what others don’t, pulsing orgasms, silent eye contact that speaks volumes, and the inexplicable feeling of fullness that comes from hope.
Portraits Of Gratitude
I see you in the portraits of a past love. I hear you proclaimed aloud from an internal monologue that fears ridicule. Thank you is whispered from my heart and my eyes after every kiss. Kisses that sting my lips like warm whiskey or bright nights that follow overcast days. The moon reflects the sun to burn the skin of vampires that dare to dance in its light. I’m grateful for your light. I’m grateful for your love. I’m honored that you see me. You see my humanity above and before any other aesthetic and in portraits you see my smile. My smile is whispering “thank you” for seeing me as a human. My love for you ends not with a parting of ideals. My love for you can not be created. My love for you can not be destroyed. Instead my love transforms from one form to another. Instead my love remains hidden behind the wall of pride. (I’ve been told that love is stronger.) Popcorn will suit me as I sit back and enjoy the battle.
When I kiss you, I want you to remember this feeling. I want you to remember my name. I want you to hear the music my body is playing for you. If you could just stand a bit closer, now closer still. Grant me the gift of your gaze and speak your mind without speaking a word. I know love now as I knew love then. The love I know now is unlike when I was willing to die for her. Now, it is for her I live. For her, I’ll dance as if everyone is watching and I’ll make eye contact as I work it. I’ll tell my story of how she feels in me. She is an elixir consumed without warning, killing me, yet in the smallest most delicate way imaginable. “What have you done to me?”, I asked not seeking a correct answer.
May I hear your voice? In my ear, whisper those two sweet words when I’m near. When I’m there tell me, “Right there!” and I’ll respond by staying in a place that fills you and pleases you and honors you. As I flashback on these portraits of gratitude, I see you. I see your vulnerability and your willingness to give yourself as a gift. I thank you.
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