v u l v a l i c i o u s
i am around love with you
You're giving and bringing. Opening up and throwing me open and receiving. Taking what I offer. Thanking me. I don't know what to do with it.
Away from you I can say: I don't know what it means to actually be in love. I'm not in, but I'm around. Skirting the inner edge. I can look in, pick apart the actions, the meanings, the ways of being that comprise being in love. I remember them from when I was, and they still scare me, are still sharp.
So I am around love with you. Sure when you touch me that it's right, that it's what I want, but hesitant in the morning until you wrap your leg around me. Ready when we're kissing, but waiting when we're not. Withdrawing when I haven't talked to you all day, thinking that maybe today I just won't call. That I don't want to talk. Until I do, and then we are, and then I am sunk in again.
The reciprocity scares me, brings me to tears when I don't want it to. I can't say it, but I am thinking of the last time that someone looked at me like that, of how long ago it was, relatively speaking. Of how quickly it might fade. Of how I can't stop the changes, no matter what I do, how many times I grab at shirttales or hair.
I am not in love, but I am around love. Trying to feel its strengthening pulse without getting scared, running away, closing up. Trying to open and close, give and receive. Remembering love and abandoning fear.