Falling in love is delicious/repulsive

PT 1. 

Come run away with me. Imagine 

Where we would be if we chose 

To live freely. In whole. In person.

With synchronous, collected breath. Piercing, sloshing tongues. Reckless attention. Full body inspection. 

We could claim any corner as ours. Our ghosts would juggle in merriment. (Do you think they’ll finally kiss?!) Our forces together. 

Disjointed isolation - in fact I’d love your silent company. Fuck. 

Hobbies. Smooch, smooch. Meals. Hikes. Repeat in any order. You like the music I play. I like the way your body works and looks and feels crumbling between my palms, I soak you in like prayer. I want to make love to your scraps. You disarm me, and I forget to show up to a class I never signed up for. We’re signing different types of love songs. Am I a broken house? Do you still crave my  borrowed crevices? I’m sick to be separate. Tear my spine in compostable pieces. 

Save me some sludge. Marry me. 

Pt 2. 

My current disposition is perplexing. I am sailing even though my feet are wet with mud. I’m not sinking. I am gliding by. Like if you were slowly going down a muddy hill in a golf cart and you were driving down to the lake. Kinda scary, but feels good on your feet. Thrilling in fact. You’re, of course, not driving the golf cart, but you are screaming your head off in a delicious mixture of glee and fright, right - and it feels good to be alive. That is a fact not worth denying anymore. I embrace the mud on my feet. I start scraping off the calluses on my heart valves. I drink in your aura. Can I make you tea? Are you sure you don’t want to marry me?