When he takes my hand and pulls me into his world, he uses only his voice and that look he knows I can’t resist. That look says he wants to spend time with only me and I know I need that time. It’s just him and me. I get to choose, here in my imagination. I choose the music and the setting. Create him based on my preferences. His dark hair is soft and frothy under my fingers. His skin is olive and flushes pink when he’s shy or embarrassed. His eyes pierce me and I can’t decide if they are green, grey, or blue. His glasses frame the pointy prominent nose that lends his face more character. He’s tall to me, between 5’10 and 6’3. His hair is a bit longer than mine is now and I like watching him touch it. He smells delicious naturally and takes care of his body, his mind, and his heart. He feeds his spirit good things, so that when we get together he asks perfect things and perfect questions like: “What do you want?” and “What’s on your mind?”, and he means them. He’s genuine and consistent. Respectful and spontaneous. He is the kind of man that knows when to pick me up by the waist, gently twirl me around and kiss me breathless until he sets me on my feet. He asks after my self-care and offers his strengths to help fortify my weaknesses. He let s me teach him things too. He doesn’t make me feel small. He encourages me to shine, unafraid of the vastness inside of me. He knows he has his own vastness and our leviathans don’t need to compete when they complement each other so well.
He repeats the idea of my communication back to me for understanding and makes sure we’re on the same page. He allows me to show him things he didn’t know and deepen his knowledge of things he thought he did. We feed the foundation of each other with the understanding that we will arrive in similar places for different reasons. His lips feel like joy, like coming home, like the prelude to a wonderland. When he kisses me I feel electric, like me on fire on even more fire. He makes my light even brighter and we add to each other’s wisdom. We share. This body, this gift of life. I hold him close until my real sweetie arrives, though I’m not sure if this one will ever leave me.
We sit, eating our dinner with the world tuned out. Sharing invisible touches on the others arm and hand as we converse about the sweet things in life that juice us up. We lean in close, brushing our sides as I show him the rough new poems I’m frustrated by. My inability to feel into the truth of them stumps me. He reminds me that I am still afraid to speak my truth, and that confusion is a truth on its own. Clarity isn’t always present. He reminds me that it’s ok to contradict myself sometimes. That a feeling is a feeling in the moment, and in the next moment, it can change. I decide to let myself surrender to each poem and not cage the words. Then he kissed me. And when I could think again, I realized the poem was complete except for a title. He is so good for me. I look forward to more time with him.