Devouring

It's late. 1

Not really late. Not for people like me, people who don't sleep, or at least people who don't sleep well. People not disciplined enough to make themselves sleep; not like the people who make sure that they get up for something fulfilling, something globally motivating. But it's too late to call him. He is one that also doesn't sleep well, but he makes himself go out of his way to do something important with every hour of the day and so he forces himself to sleep so that he can work on his spirit and his body. It's admirable, even as it's depressing because it means we have less time to be together. 2

He talks about politics with the same vigor that he kisses, patient and passionate. He spouts honeyed phrases as he holds my hips in place with two hammer sized fists of velvet wrapped steel. He kisses my forehead with gentle procession, an absently affectionate move that speaks of quiet familiarity that is unsettling even as it warms the particles all the way to the tips of my toes and the ends of my hair. He matters more than a little, and more than I want to admit to. He is something of a quiet, delicious secret and the humorous thing is that it's only been a few weeks since we met.3

He reveals himself in foggy ways, letting pieces of his inner beauty shine through like the sun after a fall storm. I know nothing of the real details, the things I always assumed made a person ...Them. Last name, real age, birthday, favorite color. He has shown me that it's the things that usually take months to find out that make a person a real entity. The broken elbow that his mother refused to have the surgery on, the reason he hates tomatoes but not tomato products, or even the fact that he once stole a cat from his sister because she ignored it. These are the things that make him him. These are the tidbits of information that seem like his life is a many coursed meal. I can nibble where ever I like, I just can't rush ahead to the next course; they will be served when ready.4

So, I whet my appetite on the morsels I lay my lips on. I taste the bittersweetness of his past sorrows and I swallow whole the joy that he brings out in me. He fills me full inside and out; my life, my soul, my heart.And I wait, sometimes a little angrily. for the next course, but wait I will. For I know that I will never ever be sated when it comes to this man- even if I gorge myself to insanity. He is a feast that will satisfy but always leave you wanting more.5

I lick my lips in glee as I ponder our next moment together. And I can hear my stomach growl for him. I ache to be bursting, to be full and filled.6

I am hungry for our future.