The danger

The danger of writing autobiographical ANYTHING is that folks think everything you write is about your life. But for me? Not. Sometimes I just want to write; take risks; share; fantasize; wish, hope, dream.

This is one of those times.

And so the desire of need and want is here In this small place between us

Push back

Atoms into atoms as your body aches and arches itself into mine.

Connected by elements of heat and liquid and gas and molecules that feelandneedandknow our

Desire for connection just

Like the dead winter limbs that springgreen leaves portending life and reaching to the sun and

Becoming Limber bendable plyable asMy heart: oh, my heart a

muscle well-exercised is

Strong and Firm and Knows

what it Needs to keep beating

under pearl-chromed hard

cage surrounding this fist-sized pinkredpurpleblue muscle of

incessant life and breath and pulse and life.

Reach up Reach up Reach out

Plate that covers the tender fragile origin of life

Because of course It is Of course it is just


from stopping and ceasing and

Ceasing life

As we know it.

Except your life gives life to me to Mine

my heart my muscle my need for you

My heart my muscle my need for


to keep going

You with

your limber long tendrils that wrap around me

Rubbingpullingmeeting my beat UpAndDownSidetoSide the pressure is incessant

our heat

ever present

My heart My muscle My slain

Pulse is quiet and resting next to you

Like what you read? Give Heather Nann a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.