adelechapline

How frightening that first flight must have been, hearts racing into the unknown, and I should wonder how those men felt at the first takeoff into the air, gusts of wind beneath fragile wings, if not for loving you.

I could compose symphonies using the notes of your laughter, the way your humor curls and arcs around you, like a cat around my legs -- I could write you symphonies that soar with every note played upon my heartstring orchestra, and make the audience weep, bestirred, moved, brought out of the greyscale palette of their lives and into the prismatic universe of laughter, laughter beneath twisted sheets and love -- the aches and wonders of pouring out to another and making us both more full for it, the love that gives and takes without counting measure, I could compose symphonies of us,  starting with the notes of your laughter. 

Your love is the place where my heart feels at home, nestled in a burrow of feather-down and sunflower petals, where your love clings to me like ivy grown up and around the craggy hills of my body  until I am covered in leaves and a surety of your affection that seeps into the marrow of my bones -- home is a place I visit in dreams guided by Orpheus, for he, too, knows how it feels when your lover looks back -- with what god must I wager to win you back from the clutches of doubt and despair, my own untrusting Psyche?  Your love is the place my heart feels at home, the ivy still grows in wild abandon, and you greet me with sunflower

Listen and you will hear the boats gently rocking against weathered dockboards and summer dreams that ripple with optimism in the sunlight of possibility, swayed by the winds I wished to you. There are moments in the darkness of the lake when I am afraid to trust the waters ahead, the unseeing depths and cloying weeds that seem to clamor to pull me under and in those moments I think of what you said when you promised you loved me, me, me but I was afraid then, too.  Now I am beckoning out to you to trust, stretch out the oars and delve into the blind night, praying to the winds that you hear me. 

Of all the secrets I wish you knew, it's that I tremble and quake for you, my heartbeat stutters and trips over itself in agonizing ectasy from a word, a smile, the graze of a finger across my imperfect skin covering up a past I'd rather forget but it all becomes a misty memory when you surround my thoughts and overwhelm my eyes until all I see and hear and breathe is your intensity -- and I am afraid, not of the slow decay of death or the rocky twists of the paths ahead, not of any beast that crawls across my flesh, forces craving to open wide the maw and swallow us whole -- no, I am afraid that where I once set your blood on fire all I c

If I could be just one thing in this lifetime, all I ask is to be yours -- let me be the white sand beaches in the moonlight and you the tide that will always return; let me be dark earth in the morning dew and you the crocus which blooms every spring; if I could do just one thing in this lifetime, it would be to love and be loved by you. Tell me all the fears that grow their gnarled thorns pressed deep against your flesh and soul, and I will tear them down barehanded -- In your worries I will plant sunflowers and roses, lilies and daffodils and a new resurrection for all that I am is forever yours.

How could I forget you when the lakeshore winds carry your voice to me, crash it against the sands of time and Lake Ontario, laughter that drew smiles on my face brighter than any art upon the lighthouse pier? How could I forget you when the sunset reminds me of holding your hand along the boulevard, falling asleep against the strong slope of your chest, warm and loved as darkness fell around us? And yet there are days when you forget me, leaving my questions and devotions drifting like messages in bottles no one will ever read. There are days when you forget me, and those are the days I must remember that even the forces of nature will com

You want to fuck me but you don't want to love me, not the way that old people do -- til death do us part and in sickness and misery, us against the world the whole way through -- but you're happy to pin me up against the wall like you've pinned my heart on a trophy mount, wriggling, writhing, bleeding against the steel, still alive, for now, for a little bit, for eternity, and even now, even now, even now, I would give you the blood in my tired veins, the last breath in my crackling lungs, kill the dreams of a child in my womb with eyes just like yours, soft, gentle, impassable -- but all you want to do is fuck me, like I never whispere

There are days when it feels like my love is a shout launched into the face of a summer storm, only to be sent flying back against the beaches, disintegrating upon the wind. There are days when you do not let me love you, as if that is a choice I would make, as if the moon would stop pulling on the tides or the sun stop calling to the earth. And there are days when I wonder if your rejection makes its roots in burrows of fear or merely a lack of feeling, for romance is dead in the winter of you and I and thousands of miles in between. So I will spend my days shouting into the wind and she, at least, will know how much I love you.

Of all the things I've loved about you there's so much more to come, like the grape vines slowly climbing up my window before the blossoms burst with song. Love, if you could hear the beating of my heart it is like the pounding of the sea salt waves against the rocks, and all the beauty of a summer squall marshalling towards a white sand shore, unabashedly wild with the tumult, laughing into the uncaged wind that I am free and unchained and humming with love for you, for me, for a thousand dreams we dreamed in the darkness of the night as the dawn broke and we dipped our feet into the water.