Tapping into the Love Cloud

My stomach flutters and holds its breath. I'm desperately in love. And you're the pretty face to which I attribute all I want to see. We don't like it when we can't put a name or face to something which is so obviously there in every inch of ourselves. So I'll do so and limit my view of the abyss to within your presence.
My body rocks and throbs with love and lust and I attribute it to your hair and eyes and stupid smile. And giving it a name and face, I delude myself into thinking that by being next to you, by being inside of you, I'm there. I am fully in tune with everything that encircles my body and leaves me awestruck.

While actually, you're not the epitome of my desires. You're not the manifestation of my love. You're a boy- a great one at that with a beautiful mind and open palms- I've always loved big hands. But what I'm feeling is something so much bigger. Something that has been here and will last so much longer than this night- this month- however long our lives will last. And the next morning, I'll stare silently at the ceiling and listen to you breath with no words in mind. And I'll feel strangely unsatisfied- more disconnected from you than ever. I am, after all, completely alone.

Me and the wind and the mountains and the frost- that's what I've got and you're a beautiful facet of it all- with a lovely face and the kind of arms that swallow me and hide my face in your chest- it feels so good. Like I'm safe and I stop and just feel the warmth and I forget what shoes I'm wearing and- for just a second but that's enough- I forget what color my hair is.

But attributing my own ability to come face to face with a power this big, to you- is a little deluded. And attributing all of that power to something in you that draws me in- well that's a little demeaning don't you think? Don't you think that assuming the fluxes, the forces, that literally rock my core, are only the effects of this thing we may have and the warm rough sensation of your hand against my back, is not quite giving it the credit it deserves?

Or maybe it's just the packaging of the same damn thing that laces everything I touch but this one makes sense to me, speaks my language, glues everything together in a way that's palatable, and fits into my notches seamlessly, like this was meant to be, and maybe it was.

But when I say I love you- and believe me I do- what I mean is that I love the way that vertebrae get slowly, gradually bigger as they work their way down. I love the way that skin stretches over the collar bone to create that little indent right above the bone, like it was draped over a clothes line. You could almost fill that little indent with sugar or, in a rainfall, it would pool with water and stay there for a day or two after the clouds clear. And when I say I love you, what I mean is that I love the way a cut heals- how one day, a little thin stretch of skin will span the tiny slit where I knicked myself and tore the ties. And how healing a wound is always a little bit of a leap of faith. But it worked. And it worked last time which is the only reason I'm still here and you're still beside me.

But one day- that leap of faith may not work and the wound will grow wider and skin is no longer strong enough to hold back the cleaving and will instead give in and melt away, and slowly fall apart.

I just want to stand next to you. I just want you to revel with me. Because my two eyes aren't always enough to take all of this in. And I'm not always strong enough to let myself fall. I want your hand pressed against my back, to be eased down in your arms. I just need hands to catch me as I fall.