Love Letter #31

Dear DM,

Last night I had a dream that we were in a theater, something to do with a celebration. You sat on one side. A childhood friend of mine sat on the other side. You were both talking to me at the same time. You both wanted my attention. She gave me a card. I left with you. In the mail today I received a card from that same childhood friend. We talk only a few times a year. There had been no mention of a card when we spoke several months ago. How funny is that? To have a dream one night and the very next day to see it manifest. Someday I will sit with you in a theater and you will speak with your lips close to my ear. I’ll leave with you no matter who else is around. I will always choose you. Not just now, in this life, in this precise moment but in every life. In the lives I have already lived and in all the lives yet to come.

It occurred to me today while standing in the bathroom that the whole point of this journey is to fall in love with life. In that moment everything was beautiful to me. The stripey shower curtain stuck to the walls to keep the cold air getting in. The current. My own body. The color of the wet tiles. I don’t know the name of that color, 70s I guess.

I masturbated today. I thought it would be fun (it was). I thought it would take the edge off but it didn’t. I spend most of the day fantasizing about you. About kissing you. About meeting you. In a car with other people I found myself unable to carry on a conversation because I was too aroused. When I imagine you shy or clumsy it really gets to me. I don’t know why.

Later I tried to meditate with you to connect our hearts together but my heart is already so full I think it might burst.

With all that I am your DF

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Love Letter #20

Dear DM,

I have a confession. Today I masturbated using a sweater. It’s all I have of you. I had been going at it for a long time. Desperate for release. Wanting you. Unable to surrender. It only took a few minutes against the sleeve, maybe less. I miss you. It hurts missing you. It hurts thinking of the miles and the minutes between. Maybe I am just a stranger to you but to me you are love incarnate.

With all that I am your DF

Mad with Love

We are closer than skin.
I lie in bed and let you
sink into me by the breath.
Everything I feel belongs to us.
I worship myself to worship you.
We are a sky’s worth of stars.
We are fated, sacred, infinite.
Tell me you’re mad with love.

Face down I bite
into my pillow
as if it were
a forbidden fruit,
as if I could find
an answer
in each strangled repetition
of your name.
I am mad with love.

We are deeper than blood.
I gather your heart around me
as if it were made of pure air.
Hips writhing
I claw at the sheets
suffocating beneath
impressions of you.
There is nothing
lonely about your ache,
your weight, your soul
pressing against
my existential boundaries.
Tell me you’re mad with love.

We are more obdurate than bone.
Knuckle-deep inside myself
I am climaxing
to the conjured image
of your made-for-sin mouth.
I lick my fingers clean
and imagine
that it is your tongue
translating the taste.
I grind myself
senseless against
the mattress.
It feels too much.
You feel too much.
I am mad with love.

Week 5 Day 3

So today I went to my cleaning job. My coworkers, whom I don’t really speak to without a work related purpose, were rearranging the garage so they were unavailable. I knew in advance that there was really no reasonable way to get assistance as it would involve someone literally following me around though I had hoped that I might ask about the industrial vacuum but the opportunity just wasn’t there (I dragged it out but did not put it away as it would require awkward lifting and maneuvering and it is over my weight limit) I had expected in my month long absence they would employ someone temporarily (lots of businesses do) but I don’t think that was the case because it was absolutely disgusting. It was a very tough day lots of bending, lunging, getting up and down off the floor, crawling on the concrete floors and trying to squeeze into tiny spaces, carrying buckets, up and down step ladders and stairs well you get the idea. I was surprised by all I could do but also pretty irritated and exhausted by the end.

 

Today was an especially slippery day lots of wet ice and also very dark so I couldn’t really walk outside considering how many near accidents I had just going to and from the bus stop. I did a 45 minute mini cardio session. By mini I mean that I tested out some basic low impact moves to see if I could do them safely so it wasn’t up to speed or anything and between my test moves I walked around and marched to get some steps in.

 

The next section deals with matters of a personal/sexual nature so don’t read if you don’t want to know. Lots of women, myself included, have questions about masturbation after a hysterectomy. I asked my doctor when clitoral masturbation would be safe and he said whenever you feel up to it. Which I found too vague to be helpful even if it is common sense. When researching online most of the info was on penetrative sex but at last I did get an estimate of 2-3 weeks. I decided to try it today. I was a little anxious and not totally sure of success so I was actually super surprised when I succeeded (no harder to achieve than previously). So how was it? It was really intense and pretty lengthy, so the answer is yes I can orgasm. I can say that because the contractions of orgasm are deep and powerful 2 weeks would have been too soon for me personally. I mean everything pretty much goes into convulsions and once it starts you are committed!

Long Distance

Hygroscopic, you absorb
These aqueous protrusions,
This grief
In the exact instant
Of publication
And if pearls
You’d be a wealthy man
For so many tears
Have I delivered
To your care.
You are a voice,
A trail of ink,
A candid film
But you are not mine,
Fully.

 

I paint the moon over
Every window,
Her surface has no seams
No matter the distance
Between us she is there
A silver knob, beckoning
But I cannot open the door
Our lives scarcely connect
And she endures it
Without knowing how or why
She must.

 

This love grows dim, uncertain
Withering in isolation
Unalterable distances
These landscapes of flesh,
Marrow-filled structures, rigid.
Incomprehensible
This ambiguity
Strangles us.

 

My lascivious hands
Endeavor to bind you
Insatiably seeking
Your embodied presence
This absence amplifying
Aggrandizing
Gestures of lust
It is only my hands
But they are warmed
With your intentions.

 

These poems seek
To press you close
That we may breathe
For once the same air
A symphony
Between lines of sentiment
These sinful letters
My only means
Of intercourse.