2.28.22 & 3.1.22

There is a breathless hunger when I kiss you. It makes my knees week, it steals thoughts from my mind. I think only of how your fingers brush my jaw, the softness of your lips. I cannot consider the water boiling on the stovetop. I cannot fathom the pork cooling on the cutting board. My focus is you. And while my mind almost never stills, it, for a time, has one singular center. 

You.

My leg is giving out as I lean down to kiss you, my socks slipping against the floor. I am soon to fall, but unwilling to leave. I climb atop you, cup your face and kiss you again. Neither of us can breathe, grasping at air in quick, hurried bursts before meeting again. Your hands slip beneath my shirt, run along my spine, send shivers through every vertebrae. Air catches in my throat, and you steal it away, time and again, until I must turn my head, I must gasp, I must let my racing heart have a moment of rest. 

It is only then I remember the meal I am meant to finish making. With a reluctance that delays my movement for several minutes, I drag myself away, I stand, and I walk.

I am dizzy off of you. The world spins, and my head feels light. My heart is swollen with joy and all that keeps me standing is the countertop I grasp. 

I am drunk off of you. And I hope I never grow sober.