As I sit here in the dark,
thinking about this,
I let the words flow —
like water.
The type of intimacy I crave
isn't sexual.
It's you, cooking with me
after a long day at work.
It's your foot brushing mine
while you sleep.
It's just you,
sitting in my space.
'Cause even though words
crowd the brain
and the tongue
grows too tired
to shape a sentence,
I know —
deep within —
you care.
The type of intimacy I crave
isn't us
tussling between the sheets.
It's the late-night phone calls,
the small things you do
in place of I love you.
I crave you.
I crave the moments
you look into my eyes
and leave me speechless.
I crave honesty —
the kind that hurts,
but heals.
The kind that makes me better.
I crave the kind of intimacy
that lifts us —
floating
on cloud nine.
A simple kiss on the cheek.
You reaching out
just to touch my face.
Falling isn't easy.
Loving you
pulls me closer
to the edge.
It's more than physical —
it's emotional,
mental,
intellectual,
spiritual.
It's deep conversations
that go everywhere
and nowhere
at the same time.
I crave summer night walks,
hand in hand.
You move, I move —
a team.
As I sit here,
alone with these thoughts
of you,
of us even,
I'm reminded of
the intimacy we share —
non-sexual,
yet so profound.
Whether as a partner
or just a friend,
this intimacy
sends chills up my spine,
makes the hair
on my neck
stand still
in reverence.
The type of intimacy I crave
is a self-care day —
us plucking each other
to perfection,
filing nails,
doing facials,
music playing low...
and love
lingering in the air.
'Cause this kind of love —
this kind of care —
lasts a lifetime.
It's more than I love you
or a kiss goodbye.
It's: I'll take care of you
when you can't speak.
I'll be there
when your mind is scattered
and your words
run dry.
