still sailing south (theironycurtain) wrote,
still sailing south

With only hands to speak, it's no wonder we talk so late into the evening..

It is a task to constantly hold you in the forefront of my mind, when I haven't met you.  Because you are a figment of my imagination.  I haven't even had the opportunity to lay my eyes on yours-- and yet the feelings I'm feeling easily overpower my rationlity.  You are a puzzle, I decided to put together, not realizing that there are no edges, no picture on the box & countless pieces.  But by the sound of your voice, & the sight of your face in my mind's eye, I will reckon the way that your puzzle fits with mine.

Because I reached for you.  Across time, space & my better judgement.  I sought you out, because you are perfect.  Because I knew you were special, & exquisite..and because I wanted to know if we were ocilliating at the same frequency.  & I hope that I am right in thinking that we do.  I don't have to feel the heat in my neck, when I speak to you, to know that you're the traveller I've been seeking.  I have been waiting lifetimes-- shifting the heavens to sift the stars, to find your light.  If I wanted sex, I'd have it.  If I wanted cuddles, I'd find them.  But what I wanted was love, & so I found you.

So this is how it goes.  I take all the things about myself, you take all the things about you.  We hold them seperately, in our hands cupped, & we both throw them up, into the air, on the count of three.  And then we spend some time picking them up, wondering, "is this a part of you, or a part of me." We keep what is obviously our own, & those we can no longer distinguish as yours or mine, we put into a pile...say over there.  & we make a bed with them, upon which to lay the foundation of the rest of our lives.  Ok?  So...One...Two..Three.
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