I've only begun delving into the written word after a long absence from that satisfying saccharine glaze that coats my tongue and stimulates the warm red fireworks synapses within. Although most people might equate a simple absence to that of riding a bike, there is a slight imbalance that occurs when reacquainting oneself with a stimulus that has been silent for so long. Much like a premature orgasm that happens when first taking the plunge into the physical romance of two bodies, it feels fantastic as everything explodes into a single moment of life teetering on the edge of death ("la petite mort") while also, embarrassingly, overwhelms the receptors that long forgot how to handle such stimulation with balance. It's wonderful and scary the way each syllable brushes upon the four chambers of my heart, initiating an anxious shock that electrifies my brain during the absorption of strong emotion and forgotten knowledge.
One such piece that touched me as a gentle petal caressing the skin unaware of such wondrous stimulus with eyes closed was a poem by Pablo Neruda titled "Tus Pies" ("Your Feet"). Though I have not had luck, or whatever you may call the chance of romance in a relationship in many years, I had found a like mind that offered me insight into not only a relationship filled with what many of us simplify as love but a deeper appreciation and understanding of the true meaning of love. Beyond the taste of her lips, the light shuffle between my hands of her hips, there came a gentle tap of reassurance during a time that self love felt more difficult than ever. It's difficult for me to express the thoughts and emotions behind what had happened as I'm still trying to decipher and understand myself, but I feel as though I might be discovering something important within as I unearth the pieces of myself that I had hid by both choice and accident.
Without a further wait I present to you "Tus Pies"
Cuando no puedo mirar tu cara
miro tus pies.
Tus pies de hueso arqueado,
tus pequeños pies duros.
Yo se que te sostienen,
y que tu dulce peso
sobre ellos se levanta.
Tu cintura y tus pechos,
la duplicada purpura
de tus pezones,
la caja de tus ojos
que recien han volado,
tu ancha boca de fruta,
tu cabellera roja,
pequeña torre mia.
Pero no amo tus pies
sino porque anduvieron
sobre la tierra y sobre
el viento yo sobre el agua,
hasta que me encontraron.
(In English "Your Feet")
When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.
I hope that all of you are experiencing (or get the chance to do so) a love so sincere within yourself and by someone that appreciated the very essence of who you are from your heart down to the arches of your feet. Some might say that I love too much the way I tell many of you how much I love you so often, but beyond the crushing and adoration in a way that would gladly find me pursed to your lips should the chance happen, I do love you. It's amazing to have the opportunity to see beyond the cute clothing and even deeper behind breast and smile as proper attire and makeup are shed. We are revealed a soul stirring inside awaiting the moment to shine truly for any and all willing to open their eyes.
I leave you with this thought for the weekend and hope that many of you have had a wonderful weekend and have a week worthy of smiles coming up.
Love always,
Xander
@rambo @missy
