That level of desire is something to remember…
What catalyzes words, ignites the fuel beneath them so they ricochet through my veins like rockets? Fuck, I want you, words dripping like raw heat in summer, urgency palpable and thick, honeyed words spiked with bourbon and clove, the sharp bite of fresh spice.
Water is control, and I can feel it slipping through my fingers, a moving current that resists the futile cupping of my hands to hold it stagnant. These nights when the clock shifts to new days and I am still awake, watching the screen illuminate with language that jolts my heart like lightning and I think, these are heat storms, and I drink them in the way the darkness gulps the light of plasma hotter than flame.
My eyes shift, a quiet intensity that comes from focus and I wonder what you will see when you watch me scrawl these familiar letters as elegant decoration on every floor of a house I have never seen. So much space, offered and accepted. Pressure building, the calm that circles the heated storm- or do we only notice calm in juxtaposition to what rages between the build and release?
My skin is on fire, sparking each time my brain shorts out. My memory is psychosomatic and I recognize the phantom sensations of activated nerves, the grasping pressure of his hands on my hips, the periphery edge of remembered sensation. If I don’t think too hard, I believe, for a moment, that it is real, and I sink into it.
I want to sink my teeth into you.
Thoughts between thoughts. Which words to ignite and which to hold. I no longer have the luxury of time to be afraid. This has carried me through the weeks and months, an explosive mantra that has shifted the ways that I move through the world and brought me here, to a place where I believe, with every fiber of my being, that this is reciprocated.
I have spent my life suppressing emotions that I feel too strongly, too deeply, too viscerally, too powerfully. What is this to embrace what was always a stumbling block, to stand upon the strength of a tempestuous heart to find my spine straightening with new potential?
I am afraid of heights, and anchor my feet to keep from facing the fear of falling. But the lightning beckons, a steady beat building that echoes the blood pumping beneath my skin and I am unlacing these weighted shoes that feel smaller now, constricting in a way I don’t remember until this pressure came and called my name. I could slice this with a knife, and I hold the edges in my hand, tips pressed against a threshold of skin, and I remember that this is who I am. Poised edges and steady builds.
The raw attraction, fighting for control.
I like winning but could sustain losing, if it means finding what lay on the other side of heat lightning. I whisper desire like droplets of gasoline and watch them catch, eager fuel for a fire I am not tending alone. But I know my face in firelight, how the shadows catch and dance. I have not begun to feel the full force of my own strength, but I know the moments when it floods and I am aware, tangibly, that we are smiling similar smiles and I am lowering matches to fuse lines, waiting for words that rocket through my veins and explode like fireworks in my gut.
I remember, but my memory lives on my skin, flashes of images and echoing somatic responses. My pupils are dilated and I don’t care. I’m not thinking about the sympathetic nervous system now, not tracking the pulse of a heart that’s feigning arrhythmia, not noting the coiled muscles ready to run, but I am holding his eyes and smiling slightly and drinking in the adrenaline rush of skin close enough to touch. I am holding heat lightning in my fingertips and whispering to the sky to bring the storm.
Monomaniacism 