A Love Letter

Dear JR:

In the coming down of yoga, I realized some things. I have known my love for you is a cleaner and more enjoyable love for a while now. I have even mistaken my lack of fanaticism for loving you less. Preferably, but less. But in my meditations, when my heart expands to post-orgasm girth, without your touch or even presence, with gigantism inspired by thought alone, I realize that I love you more than I have loved anyone before. You are my favorite part of my life. You make me happiest. You make me most inspired. You ground humanity into me and elevate me to idealism — you allow me to feel infinite, to feel galactic, like an asteroid floating in the outer space of the human experience and human possibilities. You are my everything — and I don’t mean that in the spineless way I have used the phrase in the past. You don’t define my present or future– only I define those things. You know this, but I don’t even see the future, though when I almost pulled the trigger on us recently, I realized that my relationship with you spreads further forward then I can expect, and those realizations surprised me. Because, I see yesterday, rolling in Washington Sq. Park’s grass, saxophone oozing the blues in the background, and your other partner laughing with us– our bliss, our exchange of honesty. I see today, though it was digitally contained, there was still the sending of love notes, anxiety notes, motivational notes, phallic jokes, and geeky banter. I see a language not based on traditional dialect but reinvented in my tongue and in yours. Our spit and molars roll around the vowels, and then we whisper devious promises. We blush but we are in love. I think it is pure. Each time I confess love with someone new, the word reinvents itself. And this time the poems in my ear are lullabies. And I curl into your chest, your pet, your mouse, I squeak into your collarbone, trace it with my meek tongue that can never flirt with you with the rigor of my pen, I look into your icy eyes, and I know that in that cliché hearts-beating-out-the-same-Beatles-song way, that really should make me throw up– but I know, that this moment in my life is beautiful, because I’m sharing it with you. You are sharing it with me.

And that’s why yoga is a really weird experience for me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s