Little rivulets streamed down the nape of her neck as she stepped out of shower and reached for the fresh lavender fragrant bathrobe. Usually she would hurriedly pat dry herself, get into some clothes and start her usual routine but today something made her linger. Absently she ran her slender fingers over the soft plush fabric smoothing out the nonexistent creases and remembering how he had looked at her the other day. His eyes pools of longing.
Friction of her wet thighs started a fire that exploded in her body like a rocker flare. She shifted uncomfortably, surprised by her hunger and as she turned she caught sight of herself in the long mirror and then, she saw herself from his eyes.
It was long since she had really seen herself in nude. Little prisms of water quivering on her smooth flesh, her prominent collar bones and the taut angular muscular neck, ripe full breasts, the curve of her belly, the supple soft folds of her body now glowing in the sunset colours of her beauty, she felt the heart of her desire throb with longing between her legs.
She was at an age where she had begun to regret staying faithful to a man who had never really loved her. For years her soul dwelled in an unknown body of a woman she did not associate with, an empty bottle thrown in a corner by some drunkard.
But now, as she stood there gazing at herself, inflamed by the urgency of a choice between a last hope of an exotic experience or a final resignation. Drenched in a blend of magic and mayhem, need and disruption, she began to question the course her life had chosen long ago. For the first time in her solitary, confined life she saw in herself a possibility and a potential of corruption that left her breathless.
This post is written for WEEK #62 (7-22-12 to 7-28-12): Breathless
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.” Neruda
There is a certain relish in what you steal, in savoring the flavour of forbidden fruit. Stolen kisses . … stolen moments … a sudden brush against me in the cyberspace that made my soul dizzy. Today I am searching for words, searching for those apt words to describe the feeling of intense love that I feel for you. Love that is not laced with passion or lust or longing but with a warmth that rises from different strategically located places in your body and then slowly sweeps over your entire being .
You entered my life like a comet and exploded into a zillion stars, illuminating my night , my life, me. I felt star spattered. A blooming new galaxy.
You made me feel like meadow of wild flowers. Not roses. Not tulips. No. Just a beautiful landscape blazing with thousands and thousands of wild flowers.
You brought out all the essences of a woman in me. The wild gypsy girl , the sensuous lover, the porn star, a nurturer and a healer . You stimulated and ignited my intellectual side, spiked it with wit and humor.
With that and much more you gave me dignity, honored my womanhood, held my hand and pulled me up into the comfort of your embrace. Shielding and protecting me like a cocoon. A womb for my metamorphosis.
Unlike all those who scarred my life where ever it touched theirs, you asked for nothing in return and that I guess made me open myself to you completely without fear and inhibitions.
This is called Trust.
One doesn’t sign a treaty for this. One just believes totally and with no reservations and second thoughts.
This is called Love .
Across thousands of miles hearts connect, blossom into something nameless. Something much above the usual norms of friendship and romance, above everything that’s temporal and ephemeral.
I know when we meet , it will be enough for me to just sit beside you.
There were million little things that added up together over the time and I knew we were destined to be together. I knew it the first time we reached out to each other. It was like a journey back home and You were the talisman I needed to survive the highest highs and the lowest lows.
It is so simple to love you. To go about doing the mundane just with knowledge that you are there. It’s easy to let you be with your solitude, understand the language of your quiet and return when beckoned with love. It is an aromatic blend of cinnamon and clove, ginger and honey, strawberry and cream, Fragrant Tisanes. It is the raw mango and mint. It is the citrus moon and the marmalade sky.
A margarita with its lush flavors and smooth delicate blend in a salt rimmed glass. A long tropical cocktail. A tequila shot. Single malt on a rainy day besides the fireplace.
We are different, yet similar. Distant and alone yet together. Whatever we do is as much yours as mine. Love grows in spaces between, not in bodies or someplace else.
Every time you call my name some piece of me falls into place. I’m glad to have you in my life. I feel infused with glitter and stars and popping candy. It’s flowing in my blood and brain. fingertips and toes. I love him. I don’t know how to describe how happy I am. I am still searching for some apt words to describe my love for you.
For now I will just surrender myself to you, my laughter, pain, truth, lies, half-truths, half lies, my hopes, dreams and secrets, my fleeting days, endless nights, . I give you my flesh my skeleton . I let you occupy me. I will remain vulnerable for that is how love is supposed to be.
There is a pleasure in simple things. Simple words of love carelessly thrown , stolen kisses, stolen moments. These are secret tales. You may have your own. We all have unbridled desires, secret wish lists and they all start coming out when you are in love.
read all the posts here YOU AND ME
helium filled balloon
there is goes
floating into unknown
mine but not really
who is it seeking ?
whose calling ?
Only the heart knows
I am flawed, fractured,scared and I know am living an impossible dream Love is a long haul and am ready to brave the tides and the whirlpools, storms and crushing waves. I call it impossible not because I fear of losing it but because you are afraid to push though your fears. Nothing kills love more brutally than our own incapability to hold it together.
we talk more say less
think more act less
hear more listen less
forget more remember less
empty more fill less
conceal more reveal less
take more give little
we leave a lot unsaid undone
we do everything wrong
just about everything
we turn love into a mental illness
and then we regret
we live a heartache
I wrote a letter to you last night. I wrote it on a white paper. With a pencil. I did not just write it to fill the nightmarish hours, or to make it seem as close to reality as possible, nor did I write it so I could trace my fingers over it and feel the throb of each word. I did not write it to bring it to my lips and kiss the way I would have loved to kiss you – gently or to inhale your imagined warmth from it.
I wrote it for a simple reason that I missed you in the most desperate human way. Raw naked want. Just that. Simple hunger. No , not the one that consumes the body and makes it burn over the cool white sheets. Not that. A want , a hunger of togetherness. Of being with each other.
It is something very private. Something that you may not even feel or may clothe it with your perfectly woven wordrobe so that it loses bits of its reality but I, I miss you more than you can imagine, more that I can believe and I was prepared to miss you a great deal you see. This missingness is a deluge.
How do you miss someone whom you haven’t met in flesh and blood?
Let us not debate that. This is not a courtroom. This is not a trial of love .
It just is . Period.
It is a wait.
A wait that maybe you may realize and accept that you too want me with the same intensity after all.
If not , maybe you will gather strength to say it otherwise, to put love to trial, to hold court, and the verdict will be given and love will lead us to our separate graves.
Have you walked through empty corridors? There is an intimacy there. Like love. It fills you. A fusion of light and dark. Shadow and light.
Sometimes I feel you brush past against me , a presence, just as you in my mind, in my heart, sending a tingling sensation down the nape of my neck all the way to the small of my back. It gets under my skin, circulates, and takes residence at various places I had forgotten they existed.
I wrote to you with a pencil .. why ? you will ask.
I never liked pens. I like the black on white. I like the fragility and fluidity of writing with a pencil. I like the way it softly moves, like foreplay. Pens are crude in my opinion. violent.
There is a movement in words written with pencil.. I watch them lazily curl up on your pillow or slide beneath your nightshirt clinging to your chest, I watch them nestle in your hair as my fingers would. I watch them trace patterns on your body like kisses. They are secrets, sensuous syllables cuddled under the supple folds of your skin. Taking your shape, spooning . Only words written with pencil can do this. This perfect merger of hard lead and soft smooth delicate paper. Only they come with so many more possibilities.
Only they can map the topography of your body without leaving a tell-tale sign, silently like a tendril wrapped around a stem. With thousand miles between us I let them make what we can not. Love
So I wrote a letter to you last night, like every night . I can not keep away from you.
Go buy a pencil. Run your fingers over its spine. Hold it gently. Let its soft tip move on a white paper. Let the heart do the rest.
I wrote to you a letter like I do each night and tied it to my heart .. there it goes .. it will find you … if you chose so.
Read all the YOU AND I posts here.
“You say Sloth as if it is a bad thing. I am hurt.” He gave her a wicked smile.
“Oh no honey it is isn’t, it’s just an ungraceful word for Extreme Lounging.”
He quizzically looked into her deep dark eyes.
The corners of her lips turned down.
“Oh My God, You are envious.” He laughed.
It amused him to tease her. He closed his eyes dreamily and sighed.
“Extreme lounging, watching rapturous Nigella Lawson with salty caramel dripping down her face on a full HD 3D seducing one to commit péché de gourmandise.”
He walked up to her and ran a finger down her perfect jaw line.
“Ménage à trios?”
He whispered. She felt the temperature rise behind her ear.
“A proud sinner, huh?” She gave him an enigmatic smile.
“You can say that. Forgive me God for I have committed all the seven deadly sins and sold my soul to ..” He twirled a curl around his finger and released, watching it as it sprang back to nestle close to her cheek. Laughing, he sank into the depths of the couch again.
“Five, not seven sweetheart.” She smiled.
“Lust, gluttony, Greed, Sloth, and Pride.
You just called ME envious.”
“Hahahha, yes of course but that still makes it six.” The conversation was turning him on.
“Yes. There is one more left.”
She left her place near the coffee table and sashayed across the room.
The screen of his sleek new 152-Inch 3D Plasma TV shattered.
“What the Hell?” He sprang from the couch.
She threw the golf club and walked away.
This post is written for GBE2 WEEK #59 (7-1-12 to 7-7-12): The Seven Deadlies: Pride, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, Lust