you say what it's not...

...when it has always been. if you tear your chest open i wonder what it will say, i wonder what it will tell you. underneath all the layers, would you be surprised if you knew what the bottomline is? it's buried under the earth that you threw over it, yet like a faucet you expect your self-built plumbing to be connected to the waters below to quench your thirst, ease your hunger, satisfy your urges. you run to it on every dry spell, you turn it on to bathe you in its wonder.

ambrosia. it's for the gods, yet it is also for humankind.

its essence tugs you during its absence, you feel just half the person you should be without it...at your worst, you feel dead. it is the spring of life, the antidote for eternity experienced in its temporality.

if you say you don't know what i'm talking about, you're kidding me. when you acknowledge what it's not, you already know what is, based on your awareness. you just have to be convinced that it is.

until then, i will reserve saying i told you so.

senses.

systems overload.

i've become familiar with your scent. comfort envelopes me when i bury my face in your hair, on your neck.

i feel secure when our fingers grip, seeing them intertwined gives me solace knowing that there is something solid and tangible to hold on to. your embrace covers me completely, and i feel safe in it like no one can harm me.

your skin is a curious terrain of different textures. having my fingers glide over them makes me tingle with excitement of what is there to discover, or how pressing one place could ignite a burst of hidden passions.

your laugh is infectious. your smile is sunshine. your low voice melts, your high voice thrills. your whispers electrify.

it is of glorious pleasure to partake of one at a time, or all together in undulating beats. it is joy over and over, a myriad of peaks obtained that hits the body and craves for it incessantly.