Solely Soli

To see you again is so familiar like unlocking the door to my favorite room in the house  The tone of your voice floods me with nostalgia and  the smell of your skin fills my mind with ensuing daydreams of swaying to-and-fro during our first embrace and dropping bags when our lips meet The realization that I have unlocked the door to my favorite room and that I am home in you 

I want to grow all up and through you Twisting and weaving like a long, wild weed Past your tongue  and into your lungs To climb into your being  and take off my shoes I'll have a long look around, stretch my arms and legs, and put up my feet   I'll walk and walk around in circles through the woods of you,  Unable to trace the crumbs I've dropped I want to sit in your garden  and comb through your soil I'll collect your season's yield I will be a perfect little scythe I will cut straight through to your pit The more I rake, the more I collect The more I unearth I want to pick from your trees and wash your leaves I'll work all day long I'll keep picking until it's too dark outside to see, surely reaching the end So, I'll keep waiting for an end  but it won't come I'll just keep finding more fruit And more  More of you, more of this feeling I dream you up over and over again How I want to wish on your pappus and watch your seeds sail on the win...

I've always felt that sex was more important to me than most. Vital, even. Not only the act of sex, but the vast and ever-broadening spectrum of sensuality and sexual expression. I grew up feeling like a constant nuisance (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵) to those around me, because even though I didn't have a name for it, I 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 it so well. I felt it around and within me all the time. I wanted to talk about it to anyone who would listen. I had an orgasm while riding the bus. And in the morning, while washing an orange. And after taking the first bite of it.  Its juice, mild and sweet, running down my chin, onto my wrists. To describe what pleasure truly means to me would take an incredibly long time. A lifetime , maybe. I can feel myself getting annoying to people whenever I try. I can't help but wonder, if it felt to them the way it feels to me , wouldn't they be able to think or talk about anything else? I can, however, describe an orgasm...