I Want To Say It First


You lie next to me.

Next to the soft warming glow of a tending fire. Mesmerized, you watch the flames dance; mesmerized, I watch you watching. Orange, yellow, crimson, gold; a secret brews in the oceanic depths of your deep blue eyes.

Eyes. Eyes softening as you stare into the blistering pits of universal combustion. The flames flicker and cackle, drowning the last remains of residual air. I sprawl across our makeshift camp, crinkling the old hotel sheets we tossed so carelessly onto the floor. This moment feels like a small slice of our heaven, hung and strung so delicately together by short wisps of time. It’s the most intricate array of fleeting chances smiled upon by the fortuitous Lady Luck.

A stale half bottle of wine. A crusty rind of an aging cheese.

And like my favorite book, I read you. The way your royally ruby-stained lips slowly chap with the sweltering, dry heat. The way your lower jaw locks as you are met with a soft gust of hot air. The way the creases across your face deepen to outline the most passive of emotions. The way your mind works, and the way your thoughts paint the world with the most terrific of colors, naked to even your closest lover’s eye.

I’m hypnotized.

The flirting of the flames, laughing in absolute mockery, sympathizing in a bittersweet empathy. Your voice trembles playfully with the shadows; your words roll smoothly off your tongue, slow and sweet, dripping into a jar of thick, viscous honey. And in vast contrast, you melodify my name, like it’s the most harmonious sound fluttering free from a light summer flute. The notes dancing to our pipedream conceived under a dazed, golden sun.

I coil up against you. Your heartbeat riots mine in violent rebellion. It reminds me of an aquatic creature – the swell of a single strong pump chased by a trailing tail of fading dreams. Swimming, gliding, meandering through the soft currents of my wandering mind. I am experiencing an entirely new spectrum of emotions. Feelings of utmost fullness.

A subtle scent of rustic firewood. Your breathing is so gentle. Your tenderness, so mystical. The faintest and lightest drop into the stillest of waters. Rippling the body, a masterpiece so finely tuned. I’m lost in your maze and my senses trance in blissful oblivion. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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