When Love Ripens
A Quiet Understanding
Last night, long after the weight of your body left mine and the heat of that practiced exchange cooled, we giggled like children about nothing and everything. Your arm pulled me close and my cheek nestled against your chest in that same dip I’d claimed so many years ago. I breathed in your scent, of skin so familiar, and sighed.
When our union was new, we burned like twin wildfires trying to consume the other. Your love left me breathless, gasping — and desperate.
This morning you brought me coffee. And in that moment, your gaze was soft, a caress against my heart and breast — though the lines on my face were visible and my lips had surrendered their blush to the pillowcase. Our blaze has turned to acceptance of the sweetest kind and I smiled.
In our beginning, we touched and stroked, forever sharing physical space for fear that the friction between us might die should our flesh wander too far from the other.
This afternoon, you were gone, save the note you sent my phone. The message was a mundane one — and yet your spirit touched mine as surely as if you’d stood just beyond my sight, your arms enfolding me. We do that now, touch without touching; memories of a shared life delivered in a single glance, a single missive. It’s a language of spirits long since entangled, and I glow because of it.
In the dawn of our story, we only showed our best selves — to afraid to give all for fear of rejection.
Tonight, we will come together again in kindness, the hard edges of our bodies worn smooth. Ours is a different kind of love. It is better — ripened by understanding. There is room to breathe deeply now and be wholly ourselves in the sharing. The pads of my fingertips stroke your whiskered jaw and I kiss and revel in the taste that is the miracle of us.
© Tarrant Smith 2019