Omukundwa Wangye,

A grip ripe with ache twists the flesh of my chest with desperate urgency every time I try not to think of you. This, my parasitic dependence has become familiar in the past three months.

When I finally with intent quiet my mind, unbusy it with chit chatter- the thought of you still bickers with taunt in the corner of my mind. The happening of you has brought me into union with a lush newness of my own self.

In most experiences and interactions with people I feel so deeply about- It tends to feel like drowning, being swallowed without redemption.

With you, I am swallowing greedily even though it’s all mine to have. Something about you, that’s like the pleasure of writing these words down and the intimacy of feet on wet ground, this awakening has seemingly gripped my entire being, all of me. You feel like how I think it must feel to fall freely from high up knowing it’s a safe ground awaiting. You make the nerves in my cheeks run about confused in my mouth.

And so, I must pinch myself with a reminder slowly, slow-w-w-ly “you are all mine to feel.” I whisper to my fingers, kissing them into bondage, they would rather hold your face. My lips would rather be on your chin. You ask me to let me have you kiss them but I must not. Not now.

I am an impatient and barbaric lover so I’ve been told. If you let me, I can be the water in which you might drown-to put simply… and yet the thought of you drowning would swim me next to you with the realization that I would rather be where you are, being a-washed in this same water you fight to survive from. So truly, I am loyal and faithful too but they won’t say that.

How is it possible that you make me feel within myself whilst interacting with something so foreignly gentle as you? If I were to be with you in these waters, I wish it would be that I feel this way because I am calmly drifting towards you. Next to you, I am eternally fulfilled whilst you charmingly prove to me that you can save us. And you do anyway.

Being in the same space with you and not being able to reach your hand makes my stomach grumble with forethought hunger. Drowning together wasn’t ever enough.

Feed me you. Feed me, you. You feed me you. I need to eat the air of you out of you towards you in you around you.

You, you seemingly permit my demands with shy laughter, a blissful echo amidst the loud conversations happening. Whether you think it a joke or understand it as the demand that I mean it, I shall know soon.

I could care less what it is that everyone else vibrantly speaks of and about, your breath asserts naughty hotness through my ear right to the back of my throat while you speak of your abhorrently simply put and yet heart bursting words. I shall not repeat for I must hear you say them to me, again. Remember to utter them with sacred commitment when you come to feed me you.

Me, I am choking at the bonding of our breath, it is slithering like a forbidden spell on the tip of my upper lip, the ignition stinging the pits of my stomach. Inside here, there are too many butterflies flying around, but two of them twirl dancing in the centre of this field at the Eastern riverside of my womb. It’s warm sunshine after a rainy afternoon when I am with you. Exactly as I need it, feed me more.

More poison. More intoxication of you. More questions of how I love it. More declarations of your adoration. You say you think me a tiny path that leads to a stream amidst a burning forest . I ask you, how so? You look into my eyes with a look that mirrors the grip in my chest then simply move your hand to rub the top of my hand with attentive tenderness. I know that you know that I know how you feel. Oh, you!

You give me these exploding shivers of a new curiosity.

There you go, making my spine twitch from your charm, making me tipsy with the scent of your wet lips.

Let me taste the rawness of this intoxicating scent, I shall in return allow you the sacred pleasureee of your skin on mine. Almost drunk on you, just not enough yet…

More seemingly absentminded hand placements despite the hot I can feel through the fabric on your skin. Shall I permit our skins to boil untamed on the parts where they touch while you scoot to grab my beers from-uh-this our friend? Their face and name becomes a distant memory with you in the radius of my breath.

Now, more precious whispers of claiming. You pull my face closer and say so they don’t hear, “I am drunk before I begin.” “On what?” I ask but my mind is unaware of what I might speak next.

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