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Are you intentionally this seductive?
Do you have any idea how stunned, surprised and distracted I am?
Under your fluffy, matronly bathrobe and your frowsy hair, you peer out at me with liquid, earnest eyes of loving depth and brilliance: quick to grin or grimace as ideas tumble through your head and out your mouth.
But it's a lens you look into, not my eyes.
You don't even know whether I'll be watching, as you pull your unruly tendrils of wild hair back from your face or rub your tired eyes.
By the time I see you, you're asleep, at work, somewhere else and I'm here, admiring your recent past.
You're much too smart for me, hidden under a soft spoken purr or betraying, deep chuckle.
A world of cats, cameras, cups and cunning rattles through your head and into mine like love making: how to tie the knots, where to place the cooling fan, from which country comes your green tea, how not to harm children, why this game is played and that motherboard is broken.
Sparks shimmer in front of me, cutting my sore, rusted limbs in searing heat and crisp, pure light tinged blue by the welding torch as you blithely reshape me into something that pleases you.
Creamy sauce of mushroom and cheese you've talked into being is ladeled, steaming, over toast.
Kimonos shiver over your breasts and flowers fill your fields of vision as my eye slides paths of irridescence.
Wicked whimsy in your smirk at self portrait tells me you know love.
Woman from boy most ephemeral, I want to breathe your scent and the sun warmed wax of your hard wood floors.
I want that resonant voice, vibrating my sternum and your butter white arms, warming my back.
I want to watch you, packing gear, out pacing me on your strong, cream legs until I'm gasping with cold tears in my eyes.
I want to hear you prattle on about some geekery you've single-handedly rescued from obsolescence as your slippered feet shush languidly around your projects.
I want to rest, hugged in your over stuffed chairs, as you deeply concern yourself with what is right and fair.
I want to smooth that over stuffed forehead, feel the oil of your skin under my thumb, trace the lines of skull over brain and stroke your face to silence.
I want to feel your warm breath, feathering over my smile.
I want to still you with my touch, bring you to focus on that hot, strong kernel of life deep inside you.
I want to contain, restrain you and hear you moan happy relief at the surrender.
I want to feel myself swell and ache at your pleasure.
Oh, impossible waif in your own fairy garden of magnificent wonders, if I could only touch you, please once, I think I would know so much more of mass, energy and gravity.
I am pulled to you by powerful force that shudders and quickens me into need to be where you are.
And seven hours' difference is impossible enough; you're a quarter of the Earth away from me, beyond my horizon before I wake or dozing comfortably as my day full blooms.
I want to taste and sip and chew every round, succulent, moist and slippery thought from your mind as your cadence, your rhythm rocks and tugs and pulls me into deepest, sweetest vortexes of your firing, sparking synapses.
I'm falling in love with a probability, not an event.
You dart all around me and I don't know where you are or if my very observations of you have changed your trajectory.
My palms tingle to touch you, trace you, follow every turn of your life through the charge running between our skins.
I am afraid, my dear, that I am way beyond a simple hug and a civil word now.
My appetite is voracious; my eager mouth barely composed.
And I will proceed through the mundane, trivial and civilized, not telling you any of this, because just the fact of you, somewhere in a garden, is so satisfying.
I had given up on such contact, yet here you generously are!
I will love you as I please, without your consent or permission.
I'm a selfish, greedy, needy beast and you are my reward.
____________________________________________________________
The best thing about the interwebs is that I get to mingle minds with people all over the planet. It's also the most excruciating thing about the interwebs. I meet & befriend folk I'd never have known, a mere 15 years ago.
I've met, and befriended, a most exceptionally smart & compassionate person from UK. She posts YouTube videos nearly every day, on such diverse topics as computer repair, UK immigration, the recent public workers' strike, French cooking, photography . . . We correspond off YouTube, as well. She appreciates my intensity and I her thoughtful reserve.
The whole thing is completely impossible, for a huge collection of reasons, but I am as drawn to her as if she lived down the road. Rather than repress, suppress it, I'm celebrating her impact on me, without imposing it on her.
Are you intentionally this seductive?
Do you have any idea how stunned, surprised and distracted I am?
Under your fluffy, matronly bathrobe and your frowsy hair, you peer out at me with liquid, earnest eyes of loving depth and brilliance: quick to grin or grimace as ideas tumble through your head and out your mouth.
But it's a lens you look into, not my eyes.
You don't even know whether I'll be watching, as you pull your unruly tendrils of wild hair back from your face or rub your tired eyes.
By the time I see you, you're asleep, at work, somewhere else and I'm here, admiring your recent past.
You're much too smart for me, hidden under a soft spoken purr or betraying, deep chuckle.
A world of cats, cameras, cups and cunning rattles through your head and into mine like love making: how to tie the knots, where to place the cooling fan, from which country comes your green tea, how not to harm children, why this game is played and that motherboard is broken.
Sparks shimmer in front of me, cutting my sore, rusted limbs in searing heat and crisp, pure light tinged blue by the welding torch as you blithely reshape me into something that pleases you.
Creamy sauce of mushroom and cheese you've talked into being is ladeled, steaming, over toast.
Kimonos shiver over your breasts and flowers fill your fields of vision as my eye slides paths of irridescence.
Wicked whimsy in your smirk at self portrait tells me you know love.
Woman from boy most ephemeral, I want to breathe your scent and the sun warmed wax of your hard wood floors.
I want that resonant voice, vibrating my sternum and your butter white arms, warming my back.
I want to watch you, packing gear, out pacing me on your strong, cream legs until I'm gasping with cold tears in my eyes.
I want to hear you prattle on about some geekery you've single-handedly rescued from obsolescence as your slippered feet shush languidly around your projects.
I want to rest, hugged in your over stuffed chairs, as you deeply concern yourself with what is right and fair.
I want to smooth that over stuffed forehead, feel the oil of your skin under my thumb, trace the lines of skull over brain and stroke your face to silence.
I want to feel your warm breath, feathering over my smile.
I want to still you with my touch, bring you to focus on that hot, strong kernel of life deep inside you.
I want to contain, restrain you and hear you moan happy relief at the surrender.
I want to feel myself swell and ache at your pleasure.
Oh, impossible waif in your own fairy garden of magnificent wonders, if I could only touch you, please once, I think I would know so much more of mass, energy and gravity.
I am pulled to you by powerful force that shudders and quickens me into need to be where you are.
And seven hours' difference is impossible enough; you're a quarter of the Earth away from me, beyond my horizon before I wake or dozing comfortably as my day full blooms.
I want to taste and sip and chew every round, succulent, moist and slippery thought from your mind as your cadence, your rhythm rocks and tugs and pulls me into deepest, sweetest vortexes of your firing, sparking synapses.
I'm falling in love with a probability, not an event.
You dart all around me and I don't know where you are or if my very observations of you have changed your trajectory.
My palms tingle to touch you, trace you, follow every turn of your life through the charge running between our skins.
I am afraid, my dear, that I am way beyond a simple hug and a civil word now.
My appetite is voracious; my eager mouth barely composed.
And I will proceed through the mundane, trivial and civilized, not telling you any of this, because just the fact of you, somewhere in a garden, is so satisfying.
I had given up on such contact, yet here you generously are!
I will love you as I please, without your consent or permission.
I'm a selfish, greedy, needy beast and you are my reward.
____________________________________________________________
The best thing about the interwebs is that I get to mingle minds with people all over the planet. It's also the most excruciating thing about the interwebs. I meet & befriend folk I'd never have known, a mere 15 years ago.
I've met, and befriended, a most exceptionally smart & compassionate person from UK. She posts YouTube videos nearly every day, on such diverse topics as computer repair, UK immigration, the recent public workers' strike, French cooking, photography . . . We correspond off YouTube, as well. She appreciates my intensity and I her thoughtful reserve.
The whole thing is completely impossible, for a huge collection of reasons, but I am as drawn to her as if she lived down the road. Rather than repress, suppress it, I'm celebrating her impact on me, without imposing it on her.
