When you are sober, your eyes dart like a praying mantis. The pupils lost into your dark eyes; the creams stark in contrast. Your eyebrows raise in excitement; eyelids follow. Your rough hands slowly move up with your smile. The thoughts you share are in a stream, cool, quiet, babbling constantly. Names, work, places, things you did, the strange small talk I normally abhor. You sidetrack but, only slightly, most could still follow. I sit and listen, wondering the point of chit chatting. Deeper meaning shouldn't be found, or I would suppose. I will still wonder later, what causes your mind to direct you down the paths you choose when you let your words out. This conversation is usually fine to be overheard. You aren't telling any secrets or lies, that I can surmise. This is a process that you need to do frequently, to get out any information that isn't needed or to find some that is hidden in your daily. You sit upright, for you. Sometimes, you touch your knee to my leg. Other times, you reach out and stop midway- unsure of whether to proceed. Usually, it ends with a light tap on my foot, then you retreat your hand back to gestures. Occasionally, you squeeze my toes gently and rest your hand for a few moments. The contact is minimal, if at all. However, it's only subtle if you aren't looking. You like to take time and get out things in a systematic way. It's a pattern I follow like a pamphlet of your own directions. Patiently waiting for the next step in your routine for contentment. You politely ask me how things are specific to what you recall, just as I do. You tend to ask me first. I find it gentlemanly. I will blab about nonsensical details in addition to my musings. I tend to share the parts I find the most momentous in my day. Making the cut to my paraphrasing is no easy feat when I can share every detail from my first eye opening. Our conversation grows until we have shared to mental clarity, then other tasks fill the time. The verbiage gets deeper over a time, or at least more open about who we are in kind.
When you are content but, energetic, your eyes glow round and deep like honey. You kiss me quickly by your standards but, still sort of linger in a pleasing way. You stand up and dance, it's quirky and silly. I usually laugh. I watch and sort of wonder if I should join or observe. Never sure if you are inviting or showing. I always choose the latter. I cover my mouth a bit and smile a bit shy of you seeing how much I adore it. I've seen it at various times of the day, three drastic seasons, and several locations. You get a burst of excitement after you sleep or otherwise release tension in those times. You encourage me to join in solidarity and I quietly decline. I enjoy the moment of watching you move around in a way most would find out of character. It seems to me, as if this part of you isn't quite shared as often as other parts. I lay on your couch or in your bed, blankets up to my eyes, bewilderment sparkling within.
When you are comfortable with me, you will put your arm behind your head and smile, sort of coy, and raise the other arm out, inviting me in. I put my hand on your chest or hip or stomach, usually unable to remain outside of your shirt for long. I like to feel the softness of your skin, smooth and warm. Freckles, of various size and richness, dotting your body. I draw a line in the pocket from your bony hip where it raises your jeans just slightly. I sometimes grab the edge of your pelvis bone and squeeze for a moment before placing my hand on your shirt. The gesture both friendly, curious, and forward- needing a pause to reflect my own intentions. The small of my back being the casual resting place of your hand or tips of your fingers moving lightly. You will put your arms around me sometimes and squeeze for awhile, gently. I enjoy the light pressure of your arms, the warmth from your body, and the tiny white hairs I find hidden in your chin. Your eyes close, glasses taken off and discarded nearby, you never fully close your lips sometimes. Your front teeth show a little, like a skinny little cartoon rabbit, your full lips puffed out around them. A smile will form and you'll squeeze me a little tighter for a moment. I can do nothing in these times. My hands usually pinned on your shoulder blades, tucked behind you and squeezing back. You will become prostrate in time and I join you. These are the times that we both sort of allow the closeness of cuddling without it being something to worry over. We lay in silence. We lay in silly words exchanged. We lay for a time without responsibility or expectations. The tensions of the day breaking free from our conscious mind to move forward in the next step.
One of us will break this by moving our faces, turning towards each other. Sometimes, it's natural and subtle. One second we are laying here still, the next kissing gently. Sometimes, I kiss your neck or softly bite your ear lobe. Your smile returning, you warm up to reality and out of your head. Sometimes, you put pressure on my back with one arm, almost tapping me to look up at you where you're waiting expectantly. Sometimes, I move ever so slightly closer to your lips, looking down at them, then back away just as slow when your eyes are closed, searching for me only a bit farther than you thought. You will show me a side smile or stick out the bottoms of your teeth, enjoying the tease as much as I do. You'll move forward, aware of the game we play, chasing my lips in the air between us. You allow me to have that upper hand for just a few moments, feeling gracious to the seldom surprise I give you. Sometimes, you do it to me and I move to you, knowingly vulnerable to the desire I possess. I lean in and let myself chase your face, happy to touch your short hair, running fingers through it all while you firmly grip my hips towards you.
Then it all ends eventually, we kiss and lay more sometimes, others just dressing and going about our lives. I wonder in those times how I live inside your mind. Is there a corner with a cozy chair and a stack of books waiting? Or, do I leave quickly? Allowing you to continue your normal processing of massive amounts of thinking. I think my favorite times were when we could fall asleep, barely dressing at times, just spooning each other quietly and drifting off to another part of our brains. When we meet again, it repeats. A pattern of opening up slowly, checking off each others boxes, one at a time, before we get closer and closer then break free, by duty and choice.
When you are content but, energetic, your eyes glow round and deep like honey. You kiss me quickly by your standards but, still sort of linger in a pleasing way. You stand up and dance, it's quirky and silly. I usually laugh. I watch and sort of wonder if I should join or observe. Never sure if you are inviting or showing. I always choose the latter. I cover my mouth a bit and smile a bit shy of you seeing how much I adore it. I've seen it at various times of the day, three drastic seasons, and several locations. You get a burst of excitement after you sleep or otherwise release tension in those times. You encourage me to join in solidarity and I quietly decline. I enjoy the moment of watching you move around in a way most would find out of character. It seems to me, as if this part of you isn't quite shared as often as other parts. I lay on your couch or in your bed, blankets up to my eyes, bewilderment sparkling within.
When you are comfortable with me, you will put your arm behind your head and smile, sort of coy, and raise the other arm out, inviting me in. I put my hand on your chest or hip or stomach, usually unable to remain outside of your shirt for long. I like to feel the softness of your skin, smooth and warm. Freckles, of various size and richness, dotting your body. I draw a line in the pocket from your bony hip where it raises your jeans just slightly. I sometimes grab the edge of your pelvis bone and squeeze for a moment before placing my hand on your shirt. The gesture both friendly, curious, and forward- needing a pause to reflect my own intentions. The small of my back being the casual resting place of your hand or tips of your fingers moving lightly. You will put your arms around me sometimes and squeeze for awhile, gently. I enjoy the light pressure of your arms, the warmth from your body, and the tiny white hairs I find hidden in your chin. Your eyes close, glasses taken off and discarded nearby, you never fully close your lips sometimes. Your front teeth show a little, like a skinny little cartoon rabbit, your full lips puffed out around them. A smile will form and you'll squeeze me a little tighter for a moment. I can do nothing in these times. My hands usually pinned on your shoulder blades, tucked behind you and squeezing back. You will become prostrate in time and I join you. These are the times that we both sort of allow the closeness of cuddling without it being something to worry over. We lay in silence. We lay in silly words exchanged. We lay for a time without responsibility or expectations. The tensions of the day breaking free from our conscious mind to move forward in the next step.
One of us will break this by moving our faces, turning towards each other. Sometimes, it's natural and subtle. One second we are laying here still, the next kissing gently. Sometimes, I kiss your neck or softly bite your ear lobe. Your smile returning, you warm up to reality and out of your head. Sometimes, you put pressure on my back with one arm, almost tapping me to look up at you where you're waiting expectantly. Sometimes, I move ever so slightly closer to your lips, looking down at them, then back away just as slow when your eyes are closed, searching for me only a bit farther than you thought. You will show me a side smile or stick out the bottoms of your teeth, enjoying the tease as much as I do. You'll move forward, aware of the game we play, chasing my lips in the air between us. You allow me to have that upper hand for just a few moments, feeling gracious to the seldom surprise I give you. Sometimes, you do it to me and I move to you, knowingly vulnerable to the desire I possess. I lean in and let myself chase your face, happy to touch your short hair, running fingers through it all while you firmly grip my hips towards you.
Then it all ends eventually, we kiss and lay more sometimes, others just dressing and going about our lives. I wonder in those times how I live inside your mind. Is there a corner with a cozy chair and a stack of books waiting? Or, do I leave quickly? Allowing you to continue your normal processing of massive amounts of thinking. I think my favorite times were when we could fall asleep, barely dressing at times, just spooning each other quietly and drifting off to another part of our brains. When we meet again, it repeats. A pattern of opening up slowly, checking off each others boxes, one at a time, before we get closer and closer then break free, by duty and choice.
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