~ a story ~
1
Lollipops and candy drops and so many things so sweet, but none so sweet as the kiss of his lips when we wake each morning. Or after a long day of work. Or at the end of a long parting.
His lips are plump, like ripened fruit ready for tasting, and each time I do I let the sweetness engulf my now with happy abandon, and I feel the sugary high of him all over again.
2
His scent is a musk, rich with flavors of hard work, harder quandaries, and the difficulty of his days. The aroma of him fills my nostrils whenever I hold him tight, taking him into an embrace, my arms aching from gripping so hard to my love.
If I could, if life would make it so, I would never let my love go. But I do, knowing he works hard for me, knowing he lives for me, knowing we live and love for each other.
3
The heat of his body is a warm blanket of comfort each night as we drift to sleep and each morning when I wake to his weathered face and still lidded eyes.
Even in slumber, his heart pulses for me, his arms encircling my frame, pulling me into him, his warmth a constant easing to my days.
4
When I'm away. earning my share of our abundance, and his body is not next to mine, and his scent is gone from my nostrils, and his sweet lips mere wisps of memory from my mouth, I look to my remembrances of him, my sense memory evoking all the little things that make my love so.
When I am cold in my unfamiliar bed, I snuggle up tight and imagine the covers as his arms around me.
When I wake, and he is not next to me, I nuzzle my head into my pillow and envision his lips kissing me.
When I yearn to feel connected when time gives me no leave to do so, I recall his scent, recall the richness of his essence, surrounding me.
5
At our reunitings, there is always a thunder of emotion. A meeting of great waves of wanting. Clothes are cast aside. Thoughts of anything but the others body are gone as we take in the feel of familiar flesh, familiar scents, and sweet familiar kisses.
And I smile and skip and sing, and am more than happy to have my love with me again.
The Rude Pundit's Annual Nativity-palooza, Now with Bonus Cultural
Insensitivity
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Like movies about suicidal snowmen and tortured ghosts and pole-frozen
tongues, some things are a tradition around the rude house. Beloved reruns
are good ...
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