prose poetry, writing

that feeling, you know what it is

Being kissed for the first time, maybe the last. Contact with a golf ball, knowing you’ve hit it just right. Letting someone into your body, or being let in. Passing what you thought you’d failed. Someone saying “yes.” Mutual attraction, deep affection, hearing the “click.” Standing in sunlight, with or without a breeze. Birds chirping, or crickets, or katydids. The split-second before an orgasm, knowing it’s right there. “I love you.” Freshly washed babies. Lilacs. Believing you can fly. Hot homemade biscuits. Toddlers laughing. Eye contact. Lingering. Bubble baths, 90-minute massages, hair-pulling sex. Giving birth. Being born. Waking up from surgery, alive. White-light moments. Foxhole prayers. Walking: toward or away from. Breathing. Moon setting, sun rising. Vice versa. Super 8 home movies. A coffin closing. Kind words. Strangers. Waiting for what’s around the corner. Not knowing tomorrow, next year, five seconds from now. Love.

Take this. It’s yours. You always have it. No one can take it away.

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