It isn’t the blue ghost of your eye or your moon cut smile. It isn’t your body’s landscape of muscle and bone, or how your hand turns from top stretched silk to calloused craters below. It isn’t how you hold me while night’s breath condenses, and sweat drips on your sheet. It isn’t how you fill me with bliss filled nothingness.
It isn’t how you slice through air and time, land on a pedestal and spiral into space. It’s not how you mastered mind over matter in everything except mastering your own mind. It’s not the fingertip thrill of your warm architecture or how the vibration of your voice sends hip tremors to my heart.
It’s how you make me remember what free feels like.