I Am Calling You In

The man I wish to wake up beside will be as thirsty for the ocean as I am, and he will hold the salt of it in his eyes.

He will be warm, with broad shoulders that I can fit inside — there will be a hole that is the right size for me.

He will be left handed, and hot blooded—like an engine, receiving my cold toes nightly.

His father will be an artist—maybe a potter, somebody who works with his hands.

He will have created a business that gives him freedom — so we may travel to Rome, or Bali or Italy on the drop of a hat. We will not be bound by jobs we do not love.

He will love dogs — maybe more than I.

He will love and care for this world deeply, but will not pour all of himself into it — he will have great boundaries with this care for the world and it will not run him to a place of no sleep.

He will see this world and every person in it. He will be charismatic and kind, and say hello with his eyes and words to every human he crosses paths with for he is not just in a love affair with me—he sees and cares about this entire world and each person he may meet.

This is an important trait, for some love their lovers well, but do not encompass the grace and ability to see and love this world and it is important to me.

He will have a library, full of books—and I will sit there and he will read to me. The greats—Kerouac, Ginsberg, Bukowski.

He will feed himself well—for he honours and loves his body and health. He will love to cook.

The company that he keeps will be rich, as he knows that we are a combination of those that are closest to us. His company will not discuss people or events; they will discuss ideas.

He will host dinner parties where we drink out of wine glasses as big as fish bowls and lay on the ground and talk about life. The selection of humans he keeps are nicer than French wine and the bluest cheese.

My brain will grow three sizes bigger each night.

He will be my teacher—in many things, likely in love for I have only ever grazed the surface of love with my pen.

He will be thoughtful.

Intuitive and connected to his gut—able to read myself and other people easily.

He will be dropped into his body—deeply.

He will be emotionally intelligent.

He will be deep in the masculine, and hold space with his energy and arms so that I may fall into a surrendering of my feminine.

He will know how I like to fall asleep, snuggling into my back with his left arm beneath my head and right hand in-between my warm breasts and beating heart.

This is how we fall asleep—before we take our space each night.

He will bring me coffee in the morning, in pottery mugs, with honey and cream on an oak cutting board, with a enveloping smile and a kiss into my neck if I wake first to work.

He will take us to the mountains not as often as the ocean, but still often—for the mountains and the forest are a different kind of medicine. A medicine I need, as does he.

He will be incredibly intelligent—starting many businesses, and selling them.

Walking away from things with grace when he is done—he does not linger in the things he out grows for he trusts himself to start again.

He will not play games with me, for he knows there is freedom in being chosen.

He will pick me up when I have worked too long and carry me kicking into a white bedroom with windows that have seen 70 years of rain. He will lie my body down and remind me with each kiss that we work enough to live, but not live to work and today the working is finished.

He will take my body apart with his hands, his mouth and his tongue.

Integrity and showing up will mean the world to him—he will scorn himself when he breaks an agreement and it will be my work, like his work to learn that even with integrity we sometimes make mistakes. And sometimes we do not intentionally break an agreement—and when it is not intentional, it is a different thing.

He will be forgiving, and not violent.

He will wear grey wool socks and show me music my ears have never heard before.

I will lay on an orange couch and listen to stories of his life whilst trying to stretch my ears—for he is my greatest teacher, and I love being the student.

I will also teach him things; we will teach other many things.

I will love him with touch—across his shoulders, his neck, above his left and right ears—my hands will touch him gently and strongly, and often.

He will be a great receiver—of love, abundance, compliments, criticism.

He will speak highly of the women who have broken his heart, for they are the love stories that allow space for this one.

He will show up effortlessly in my stream with eyes that are telling and a presence that is demanding and our love will be easier than it is hard.