She Is Freedom

There was a freedom in touching her.

A quiet rebellion pushing itself up and out from the earth like the first few moments of spring breaking.

She met me, and in the first few moments in our exchanges there was a mutual fighting of the throws,

the waves of intensity that overtake the body when it feels like genuinely drawn to another.

A kind of magnetic, boundary-breaking energy that incites in us a develish way.

A dance of fires

Bending around and under one another with only enough air space to fuel each set of flames.

It is magic with her because of that freedom.

Because among the flames our need to satisfy one another in any other way buns up and ashes, as sugar.

Her body opens and falls like ribbons in a slow wind, touching only spots of skin that long await a brush or stroke,

around me she's wrapping.

covering skin only where it begs to see sunlight.