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  • Writer's pictureGina Micek

Love Position

Love is my favorite sexual position. With your eyes I feel held. In my dreams you caress me. Gently, fingertips flow down my skin, over bones. My internal juices flowing. Inviting. Warmth.

You laugh. The room quakes energetically. Clinking glasses. We are together even apart. Time and space are meaningless as we comingle. We are one this way, cosmic partners.

I watch you move in the room. Sometimes I touch your neck with my thoughts. A soft kiss. Taste the salt. Man scent. I want more and I will hold back, for now.

Your strong arms embrace deep in the night. I awake to the heaviness of your body. Located across the city, I still know you. I long for the physical, sometimes wanting to go too far -- now. Waiting is a type of sadness; unexplainable and palpable.

Twin soul problems no one understands. We stand tall and live a burden of a larger process. My mind churns with issues I can do nothing about. I flow with the energy. I speak only when prompted. Silence, stealth is my sword.

Your anger and frustration arises when you lose. Maybe it mirrors all the let downs, the times when you felt you were not enough. Like losing is a metaphor for not being loved and not loving.

I wander. Walking keeps me from thinking too much. Familiar faces and ground. I am nervous and can’t sit still. I don’t know what to do so I try different positions and places.

Everywhere I go, in my mind I can hear you. I am never truly alone. We make up stories of not being ready. It is easier for people to get that then to feel us. We might be crazy, after all.

You crack a joke. Childish and funny. Telepathic voice, you mention you think I look sad. I throw you off. Tired. It is true, though, there is something missing today.

People laugh at the joke. We add more whiskey to our ice and feel its warmth in our throats. We can’t speak about our connection, our love, our nocturnal visits, so we just let it hang in the air. A mist in the warm spring air.

Dancing to Prince, I wonder where my red Corvette is parked. We are separated by spaces. Some created by others, mostly by us. You leave. A mystery. Located elsewhere for a time, I take solace in the sun and my feet on the concrete.

Joyful momentarily. Rain clouds are coming. Shadows yet undone.

#SoulJourney #Innerlandscapes #JeffBrownWritingCourse #DivineFeminine #Spirituality #SacredJourney

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