Pomes

Connection

I've met all the perfect people in this world, or so I thought I have. From strong jaw lines to nice curves, women and men all the same,  Perfection, to me, was all about connection, But I never thought that jaw lines and nice curves equated to "so, do you spit or swallow? Lick or receive?" I never thought that perfection was equal to immediate body interaction, I didn't know that sex was part of the whole scheme.   Because nowadays, sex is just about friction, in and out,  in and out, bodily attention, genital satisfaction.   But sex is more than just the friction between two bodies,  it's a novel underneath the sheets, a battle, a game, it's embedding history with you beside me,  it's not all about heat and sensation,  skin to skin, your lips pressed to mine, thighs on thighs, my hands between your chest, sex is all about soul connection, the way my tongue tells you the words I'm not strong enough to say when the lights are on, how it leaves my stories on your bare neck and my soft marks on your back, the way, my eyes give you the warmth you've been searching for,  so you can remember, I wasn't just there for the moment but there for the time, that I've left you a memoir of my being, a prayer beneath each kiss, a whisper to God that I hope you're not one of the perfect people I've met.   I whisper that you see beyond the physicality, above all the parts and grooves, that you won't see my body as something pulled apart at the seams, a simple phone call on a lonely friday night, while you're lounging in your condo, listening to the 1975.  I whisper,  that everytime you see a rainbow through the sky, smell the bittersweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee along the silent morning streets, feel the breeze through your shoulder length medium brown hair,  or see the night creep along the edges of this earth, with its parading bright lights,  you remember me, how my fingers reminded you that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, that your scars were blooming flowers and I would be there to take good care of them, that no matter what kind of Victoria Secret lingerie you're wearing we're still naked, limbs, stomach,  heart, soul, you remember the way I looked into your eyes and saw what you were trying to hide,  fragility,  vulnerability, weakness, and spite, and remember how my hands told you that you were art,  deeper than just the surface,  more than what you'd like to show off.   Remember, how I made you breakfast the next day, a cup of your favorite chamomile tea with just a hint of honey, and pancakes with fresh berries because that's just the way you like it. How I didn't leave as morning inched its way through the blinds and onto your pretty pale face,  how I remembered all the words that decorated my mind as I watched you close your eyes that night.   Because sex was never about the pleasure,  It was an exploration of our deepest depths, together,  A dive in unchartered waters,  It was sewing together our imperfections to create something worth calling perfect.