We love things for reasons we don’t often know.  Sounds, smells and tastes, they all soak into our skin and become a part of how we live.  The places that give us the most comfort have an ambiance that echoes our loves.  The clattering of plates and murmur of voices while the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air does it for some.  Others find themselves at peace under the sun with birds chirping and stillness in the air.  The beach, the city at night, the streets after it rains, they all are favorites for many different people who are more alike then they know.

For me though, I never had a place that gave me calm yet filled me with life.  For me it was different things that could never balance themselves out to perfect symmetry.  A rose alive in a dark room whispering from the shadows.  Rain to glass among howling wind on a mid-morning Tuesday.  They would come to say hello once or twice a year, but I didn’t know them very well.

It wasn’t until I met you that I thought I could have a place like everyone else had.  A comfort.  Tranquility.  You were the smell of sweet citrus in the summer.  Sticky and running down your chin from a voracious bite.  I’d lick the acidic sweetness from your lips and grow it to a kiss of tongues and heavy breaths.
After our bodies were peeled of any clothing and our colorful skin bare, ready for teeth to taste the juices inside, you became music to soothe me.  The arch of your hips and your breast curved like an instrument.  The plucking pizzicato of sensitive strings made you sing.  Your leg bowed around my back, creating music in me as you drew it across my flesh.  Our vibrations humming in pictured beauty.

That is what you are, what you were.  My sanctuary.  My garden.
You were my nature.  You were my music.
The hard winds that erode the cliffs.  The fierce waves that crash against the rocks.

You were growth.  You were life.  You were more than love.


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