Just a begger
Memories fade, and I twirl into oblivion. My hand tries to reach out, but slowly drowns into the depths of my soul.
A message in a bottle, that's what's left.
Fever compounds
And so do the dreams, intermixed with clues from reality.
A Christmas Gift, an Aspiration for 2025, a desire unveils.
I travel, I muster the courage (I will, anyhow, get into touch - it's enough time, the fever as taught me), and we decide on lunch by the shores of the Leman. A safe, unwittingly option to keep us both in check. However, the moment we see each other, a mix of joy at the sight of beauty, rage at the wasted time, happiness at the hope of a forelong encounter, build up, and the handshake turns into an "hello, good to see you", and we do not let go the hand, you start a faint caress, I pull you closer, we end up hugging, the hug gets ever tighter, and we mumble garbled words like "I missed you", "it's so good to be here", "can't believe".
Eventually, we need to break that hug, but the perfume remains floating, your eyes sparkle, and I assume mine as well. We head on to lunch, walking side by side, our arms touching every once in a while as we get drawn always closer. Conversation is like a day went by, picking up on the joys, sorrows, accomplishments, misses, dreams and hopes. Our entanglement becomes matter again.
We sit at the table, I pull your chair and you are as graceful as ever sitting upright while your whole is melting. We order, we laugh, shed a tear, smile, frown. Meal is delicious, but is the least important as we feel alone in the middle of a crowded restaurant.
And then, the coup de grâce. Waiter asks if we would like desert. Our feet had been touching every once in a while throughout lunch, but suddenly, you caress my calf. The dialogue is swift and sharp from then on: "would love it, but I also have some tiramisù, would you prefer it?"
"Are you sure?"
With a sparkly smile, you turn and ask for the bill.
...
I wake up, my chest pounding, my heart racing, my brain over clocking, my lips smiling wide.
Now, that was Christmas.
Senses
The senses are lowered by the fever. They move inward, seeking the reality that they once felt, as I drew you close.
I no longer see you at a distance: I see the detail of your pupils, as they opened wide in the darkness of your room.
I no longer hear your voice over the phone, but the whispered mumble when you would gently bite my ear.
I no longer smell your perfume in those delightful office mornings: I am surrounded by the freshness of your scent in wake up kiss.
I no longer taste the food we shared in the dozens of restaurants that became hours. I enjoy the saltiness and sweetness as I kiss, lick and bite every single detail of your body.
I no longer feel that first touch of hands that exploded my Universe. I feel you as we undressed and finally hugged completely devoted, and surrendered our will to each other.
I don't mind the fever. It somewhat brings me back you.
Do not recall
Every feeling lousy next to you when I was sick. Somewhat you would always heal me with your eyes and wizard touch.
My chest is crunched
All tension and stress build up until I cannot breathe.
If only you'd whisper at my ear. My muscles all melted at your soft voice at once. I would breathe to inhale your perfume. I would reset entirely. I would sleep sound.
You are not around. I am not around. And so, I face the world, opressed and disheartened.
Tenderness
Fondness.
All goong through my racing mind after emerging from our deep dive and watching you sleep.
What did you feel?
What do you remember feeling?
What do you still feel?
Smooth
Silky.
All I could feel in the brief pause of contemplating your back. Moments to catch breath, before plunging into your soul.
