Here’s a little thought on the concept of intimacy that I, as a newly turned eighteen year old have. Is lntimacy an act of love or that of lust? This is almost my first mild erotica and so I expect the critics to be a bit lax.
Was it when our hands brushed each others’ that I felt infinity?
Or was it when you climbed me up did we experience intimacy?
Was it when I stared at you for a lifetime that I felt loved?
Or in that dark-lit room our fondness got served?
Were we closer when you called me at 2 the other night?
Or were we juxtaposed that twilight?
Was your manifestation clearer in my thoughts when I slept?
Or vaguely there while in each other’s eyes we didn’t even look at?
Did you hold me tight the other day when I was scared of them, ghosts?
Or the other when I held a bit more of things that were yours?
When my foot steps go back to the have beens,
My mind still wanders and is aloof of the realities.
Now when we’re perfectly estranged,
My eyes still look at you the way they used to, Noticing, and then not, the new omens
And other things which you hide and say are bee- stings.
My hands still reach out, not to yours
but to the common existence that we shared.
Tell me or you rather won’t
When you go to the same places that we once went,
Do you recall the times we spent
laughing together; hand in hand
Or do you reminisce about the times we spent
Not talking with our lips or with our eyes, with our hands.
If you could define Intimacy
would it rather be
Our souls in resonance
Or our bodies in consonance?