I wake up kissing. Before I know what city I'm waking up in, he is kissing me. During the transition from dreaming to puffy-eyed coherence, when subconscious is forefront and I am most impressionable, whatever happens during this magickal morning moment is imprinted, for at least the entire day, most certainly longer. Imprint passion. Imprint choice. Imprint presence with this kiss.
Love is not a noun - a state to procure, pronounce, or possess. Love is an action, and takes practice to perfect. It moves like my pelvis when the bass hits the brown note. It sounds like the fan moving air all hot nite. It looks like sweat on California skin. It tastes like avocados. Feed me Love.
He is my Lover because he Loves me like a verb, like an action that only exists while it is happening. And that makes me the Loved, being touched, kissed and danced with. Drunk on avocados, lying naked in front of the fan all hot nite.
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