The Blending of Many
Like snow, you fall around me.
I listen, content to your body breathing,
As we lay covered in flannel.
My fingers caught up in your pectoral curls,
And the way your eyes crinkle when you are content.
I wonder if it is possible to lie between the snowflakes,
And still be warm in this blatant vulnerability?
I have become exposed to this new awareness.
This sense of bareness between us.
Yet, I welcome the fall, and the obviousness of you.
We have become like trees, rustling living beings,
That search for things we didn’t know we were looking for,
And aren’t sure that we want.
Like the leftover boxes that still lay on my bedroom floor.
That once contained something we wanted, but maybe outgrew.
Yet, for a time we held tightly to them, because we thought
They were what we needed.