There are days, like today, where I wake up with a sixth sense of what is going on around me. Electricity in the air. Instinct that goes beyond animal. It becomes celestial. It's unified field shit.
Quantum physics and the threads of the spider that runs it all.
I wake up with the sensation that I have been fucked well while sleeping.
I wake up with more saliva in my mouth than I should have, and this remains for the rest of the day.
Salivation. Salvation. Both mixed into one.
Every thought has to do with our barely scratched surface in learning each others bodies and desires. No matter how long we have known each other. Sometimes it is the slow drip fire that burns deepest.
Is this what scared you? Is this what made you say that you had to end things while your eyes get wet while you trap yourself within your words, then tell me that you love me? Perhaps. The process of opening yourself to me - not to just anyone, although I know you have have started to with others in the past~but to me - feels like drowning at first, doesn't it?
Being pushed down beyond the surface of the water with your mouth wide open and gasping- arms and fists and shoulders lashing out in every direction to save yourself- to keep yourself from going under.
Going under.
What you don't know is that there is another world beyond the drown. Past watered lungs and salt stinging hiccups. That if you let yourself go under, if you consent to going under that, beyond, there is a land with cleaner air than your forested body has ever consumed.
A truth and freedom and an encompassing of everything you have ever wished to be free of, or to have held.
What would happen to you if you were to go under, open yourself wide to me, turn yourself inside out, or rather, allow that I turn you inside out before me?
Would you lose yourself? Would you gain yourself? Would it be the first time someone has seen all of those filthy dirty beautiful things you have done and seen? Beautiful only and always because they are connected to you.
I can feel your hands tremble in anticipation, in fear, in want. I see you grip them into fists to steady them. To regain some semblance of self control. But I still feel their trembles. Fine, millisecond trembles.
Ripples upon the water.
What would happen to you if you were to go under, open yourself wide to me, turn yourself inside out, or rather, allow that I turn you inside out before me?
To be spread upon
and underneath
this undoing sea
you are so endlessly afraid of.
k.
(image: A section of Gerrit van Honthorst's painting, Saint Sebastian, roughly 1623)
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