Why It Matters

Sure,

kisses were a pain in the neck

for both of us

but it wasn't about the kisses.

One night he walked in the door

immediately scooped me up,

no warning,

threw me over his shoulder,

and carried me into the bedroom.

When he held me

he wrapped me up in him

and I've never felt so beautifully delicate

so safe

so feminine

When I wasn't okay,

I could nestle into his chest

and disappear.

He would kiss me on the head,

taking the world away with his lips.

It wasn't about the kisses

it was about him being a man

who made me feel like a woman

by standing by my side.

It was about how I fit into his arms,

into the curve of his body.

It wasn't about the kisses.

I Want to be Alone

I don't want my solitude broken.

I want to lie on the couch with a good book
and my legs in his lap while he games.

I want to lay in bed for a while before getting up
with my head on someone's shoulder,
watching his chest rise and fall as he breathes.

I want to drive aimlessly, getting lost,
singing with the radio turned up too loud,
memorizing the geography of his hand with mine.

No pressure to break the silence,
letting touch replace speech,
content to do nothing together,
because nothing is enough.

I don't want my solitude broken,
but I'll happily share it.