The Edges

I float into your lap
and bury my face in your hair.
My arm around your shoulders,
yours wraps around my waist.
The familiar scent of your skin and 
cologne travels down to my core with 
every slow, mindful inhale...
There is a steadiness to my 
rising heartbeat, keeping pace 
with the intensity of proximity 
elevating our usually peaceful 
co-existence.
 
You look up at me and I meet you 
halfway.
Our cheekbones make contact
and my heart spews a thousand 
golden butterflies.
The heat rises 
and I melt like butter in your presence...
Your lips are warm and smooth,
landing softly on mine time and again.
My fingers travel up from the nape 
of your neck and get tangled in your hair. 
A perfect reverie,
as I hold the back of your head in my hand
with tenderness and in awe 
of the ocean in your eyes pulling me 
into its depths unapologetically. 

We swirl in an air balloon of sensations,
lifting, shifting and expanding,
until we interrupt the flow
by a somber talk about consent.
Our minds haven’t caught up yet with all 
that our bodies already know.
You lie down on your side,
facing away from the irrepressible swells,
but signal that touch is welcome.
And I let my hand wander 
around the smooth planes and edges 
of your back while you mumble 
something about vulnerability.

Now we are on a pebbled road.
You take out the camera and say
You'd like to capture this energy.
Two women walk by - 
I catch eyes with one and she smiles
as if she’s been here before.

You say this pull is either about attraction
or synergy,
and either way we are called to explore 
whatever this is that is unfolding.
And I remain unattached 
to any particular outcome 
as long as we keep choosing 
to allow ourselves to loosen our grip 
to the netting that keeps us captive
inside our own insecurities.

I find myself being brought back
to the edges of wakefulness,
and realize this was all a dream,
one not too far removed from wishful
visions, yet still an infinite distance apart 
from these cool sheets rubbing against 
my skin on a slow, damp 
Sunday morning.

I sigh and breathe out any residual 
longing, but can’t shake 
the visceral knowing
how it feels to blur the edges with you
for the very first time.