You are, but not completely defined by, all of these things. The physical, a notorious prevaricator in matters of judging a person, suggests youth, energy, nonconformity. In this case, it speaks the truth...partially. To see anything else there, one must look beyond the shock value, to see the intelligence in your eyes, and the care with which you touch someone that you love...something that I noticed before that someone was me.

You are motion, move with a grace that you would deny. The grace comes from a refreshing lack of self-consciousness that accompanies your movements, breaking into a full skip in public just to feel like you're flying. You dance without secretive glances about you, not caring who's watching or what they're doing around you, you punctuate the hardcore beats with your fist in the air.

You are heat, I seek it out, pressing my bare cheek against yours, nuzzling, a brief flash of moment perhaps more intimate than any other act. I playfully remove your clothes, expecting you to stop me at any moment and tell me that we have to go, have no time right now such things. You don't stop me though, and then you are nearly naked before me. Our kisses grow hungrier, you strip me and we're kneeling on the bed, facing each other...intensely. I will eat you slowly with kisses...well, except for the slow part. You lay me down and then...

...union...

...friction...

...rhythm...

Tiny beads of sweat form on your forehead and I can feel them as we touch eyebrows, taste salt as I kiss your neck and your body responds to mine.

We fall side by side into each other's arms and I listen to your heartbeat slow. I half-heartedly fumble around in my mind for words--always this need to define my experience in language, even if the experience is beyond words.

You are complexity, studied and defined. We're all here, floating around in this sea of words, trapped in them. Constantly categorizing, reorganizing them, changing our descriptors as the world around us changes. Or in some cases, not the world, but our perception of it. Forgetting, often, that among these scads of words there are so few that really matter, perhaps none at all when all that needs to be said can be done so more poignantly with a smile, a kiss, a presence.

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