The color of love stays clear and pure, the way you can see the color of glass, and the color of water. The color of love runs through, and true, rising up with smoke and lingering with the ashes. The color of love isn’t red, or blue, or pink. The color of love is evanescent.
The taste of love isn’t blood, or iron. The taste of love is clear and dear, dancing around your tongue, like when you thirst for water on a hot summer’s day, even as your skin runs with beads of sweat. You thirst, and crave, as if starving wasn’t good enough. The taste of love runs through lovers’ lips, shared among kisses, lingering with perfume and cologne. Lingering with lust and love. Lingering with the touch of love. The taste of love coils around you like a snake, until you beg for more, out of breath, because more is never enough.
The feel of love fits like a well woven glove, warm and fuzzy like a bear’s hug. So rough and tender at the same time, holding true yet vulnerable and delicate. The feel of love mingles with the freshness of spring air and the winter’s chill, when pecks are too quick and hip-to-hip isn’t close enough. The feel of love whines for more, when you can get so close to the other that you become lost into their skin. You feel what he feels. He feels what you feel. Intertwined into a potion of pooled services for each other.
Remind me what all those things were like, dear love. Remind me when my senses were overwhelmed and overpowered. Remind me of the hot breaths of pants. When life was hard around the edges and we were soft to the touch. Remind me what it felt like when you couldn’t get enough, and it was okay. Remind me what it was like when I was enough, and you wanted more. Remind me what it was like when we were one, woven together by two. Fingers lingered on skin so taut, little hairs and goosebumps defined our existence. When the universe was dancing on our fingertips and the world was conquered through our eyes.
Remind me of the breath of love. Remind me.