Connection

[aims]

Close your eyes and feel my soft moist lips 💋 slowly methodically and with passionate care, kissing you starting at your well beloved face, taking my time as I pay attention to every inch of you. And just know that it would be my daily endeavor to kiss, to love on the intangible you likewise and I will always ask and welcome feedback on that knowing that all people, but especially introverts like me might tend to retreat to within the self without even realizing it so would ask your help in keeping vigilant awareness of not retreating from our connection it'd be a shame to lose love because I didn't even realize I had retreated from it. And just so you know I think the "perfection" of youth has got nothing for me! It doesn't turn me on.

[artolmaeus]

it is the times, when I could drink red wine, enough to where I would walk onto the dance floor
and dance regardless of my capacity to do so, in so doing, others copied me, perhaps to mock
then, that did not stop me, as, I was feeling just past the line of inhibition
and both me and the mockers persisted, smiles and laughter, and there was joy
and as the wine subsided, and I may have been in delusion, that I would make the moves
as maybe somewhere the words of "Nights over Broadway" echoes in my soul
as if I was on a high far away hill, looking into the crowd below, encompassed
in the blankets of sound and movement and I was still, still far away
but for those moments when, by whatever ambassador would lead me down
in whatever role my participation was, and somewhere, in the midst of a sea of many
one slow dance, and my singing "oooh, baby, baby" might move the impulse
of whatever was driving the moment of some connection how brief
the softness of lips, would press into my fearful form, and make for a moment
that I was there, before introductions, names, or conversation and to be held
as somehow beyond my knowing, what values I had reached for being able
to tremble in fear and try with no grace to participate
and it was more than enough, much more as often, I would run further
past the far away high hills, and then down into the dark woods
where only the trees might keep me company, and give cover as I peek past a trunk
back at the lights and the moments, when, it could have happened
and more than this, I questioned, I denied, was possible
until the need for wine held nothing, as the need for where the wine would take me
I could go it alone, without the crutch, awkward and afraid
and long enough, to where these things subside and all things
crash and spread like waves on a seashore, best met with bare feet
on a humid night, mingled with the ocean's air, and like an innocent child
the best thing I could do was hold a hand, and just be there