the wants of the body
I never knew a body could crave another quite like this. I was sure that that this was just a thing the writers of yesteryear, today, and tomorrow embellished for dramatic effect. After all, a body is just a body. There’s no way it alone could yearn for another in the ways that I read about.
But no matter how much I believed that, I still hoped I was wrong. That one day I’d be introduced to another who would fill my body with that hunger that’d drive me crazy. The type that was insatiable. That kept my head filled with images flying too fast for me to make sense out of. But I’d try anyway, eager to capture just one moment of our bodies, your body. Take that image and frame it in my mind so I’d never have to find another.
I wanted this so desperately, I knew that’s what was digging its way into my veins. I knew that that was what kept me up from when the deer came out to play to when the birds began to sing, sweat gluing the oversized shirts to my bare chest even in the dead of winter. This desire puncturing holes in my lungs so I was always just a little out of breath.
This body I wished for against everything I’d known up until that point, your body, would be the one to patch me close while still making it impossible to catch my breath. Your body would push mine off the ledge and save it all in one, fell swoop. Your body would introduce a sweetness to my tongue so delicious I’d crave it every second it’s gone. A song so delicate my ears would find a way to taste the color between your lines.
How would I find you, though? Amongst the sea of bodies so similar and not, how would I make my way to you? And how will I know when I do? Will my skin pulse, my legs shake at the sight of yours? Will my hair stand at attention, my lips ready? Will my heart beat its way out of my chest into your hands? Will that hunger eating its way through my blood scream out when it saw you coming my way?
I didn’t want to miss you when I met you. I wanted to be sure I got the chance to hold you closer than possible. Intoxicate myself with you. The way you moved, the swing in your hips matching the rhythm of the songs we’d create, I wanted to be sure I didn’t miss these moments I was positive I’d spend the rest of time searching for anyway.
One kiss, one touch, one night wouldn’t be enough.
Or five hundred, five thousand, five million, it turns out.
See, it’s been five years and then some but I’ve stopped counting the times our bodies have met because it doesn’t matter.
It’ll never be enough.
My body, crying in the middle of the night for that touch of yours, could never be satisfied. It wants with a desire that outshines the words those writers immortalized in those books so many years ago. A desire that crawls its way up from my toes to my neck, slow and deliberate. Sure in each movement that brings me closer to you.
I guess now I know why some spent their lives trying to bring to life the ways in which a body can want another. Why they never stopped writing.
Even though I’ve found you, I’ll never stop either.
