Thinking of other things

“I’m waiting” he said.

“For what?”

“For you to grow a brain.” I traced his perfect lips with my lingering gaze.

The way he forms the words and pushes them away with breath and tongue.

“To think of other things.” His beautiful dark eyes begging me to understand.

But how? What other things are so important?

When his beauty is a sonnet that throbs within me.

What other things are as captivating as the feel of his skin against mine?

What other things are better than studying the way he breathes

Or if his nostrils flare when he’s angry

Or how I feel when he’s inside me

Or how he laughs and his eyes crinkle just so

What else is more important than understanding what eternity feels like when he’s holding my hand

And what is more important than I am more me when I am breathing his air

And can someone please tell me what other things are more important than understanding this universe that made me made me for him?

And when I feel the vibration of the universe’s answer to my prayers coming through the speakers, what is better than being reminded I gave away my heart and soul?

What can I think of that’s more important than the way my molecules have come to be so that I can lay with my feet pressed to his feet?

What’s more important than forgetting about ego and just being?

Adrift in the chaos of the expanding universe and I am eternally his?

So, I try to think of other things.

How the butterflies have come and sip the nectar from the flowers by day.

How the ground feels soft beneath my feet after it rains.

How I enjoy the smiles of strangers I meet in the store.

Wondering what memories that drop of water holds as its fallen apart and reformed over and over since the beginning of time.

How that child will eventually grow into a man and I hope his heart is strong enough to survive it.

But nothing feels more important than remembering how time split open and my soul was his and he was mine and I saw forever swaying back and forth in his eyes.

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Author: doing2016

I started writing when I was very young. Then I was mortified on a bus full of people when one of my stories was read aloud. I lost my focus and quit. Now, I'm trying to find my voice and my ambition. I love to write, good or bad. So, I'm doing it here and now. Thank you.

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