Buoyant Love: One Part Ocean, Two Parts You.
Sweet soul, the point was never the longing. You ground me deeper than that familiar sensation. There is an urgency felt for you. Encasing me.
Something tangible between us. Edible. An explosion of senses. Maybe that’s why I can’t shake you from my affections. Even my body parts have constructed a reality around you. Just as my legs have thoughts of wrapping tightly around your waist. Inviting you inside of me. Feeling how you can get so hard while touching my skin so softly. But I digress, this is not about the fucking. It’s about the water between us.
Waking up before sunrise with no sense of time besides wanting to share these particles of life with you. Somehow. Carrying you with me. Wanting you to see through my eyes all the beauty that captures me within yours. Falling in love with the deep hues within you. The rhythm and power that comes with your nature. Knowing we create new horizons when we come together. Arrive together.
Knowing you would make love to me like the waves. The crashing. The undertow. The luscious lapping.
The ocean taught me how to love you. How to be consumed by you without fully comprehending the ways in which you surround me. I feel you everywhere, yet I can’t quite hold you. Elusive lover. Omnipresent. There is not a part of my body you don’t penetrate. Then, there is the space beneath. You are there too. I find your initials in the sand. This love is beyond me. Beyond us. I crave your oblivion.
The proportions of the sea to me are an unimaginable ratio. Floating as an observer of the less forthcoming parts of you. Seducing you towards exposure. Which is only fair, as you have done the same with me. You caught me off guard. Welcomed me beneath the surface. Further. A privileged guest. Exploring you delicately. Wondering how you would taste if I opened wider.
You leave me hungry. Curious. Aware.
You have come to teach me how to swim. How to breathe underwater. How to feed myself from your expanse. We can live much longer without food than we can without water. This is my necessity. You know that you can satiate me. My thirst. My devious muse.
Half of your mouth smiles. Cascades of dynamic laughter. Making me wish I could disappear behind your lips. Pour myself down your throat. A woman devoured.
The sun interrupts the darkness. Dancing golden light. A runway. A bridge. You call me into you, past the breakers. Then you tease me back to shore just before I cross the threshold of lost vantage points. I’m wet. Everywhere. Salty and windblown. Swollen. Open. Bare. Even the wind across the surface of your waves annihilates me. A touch of bliss down the fault line of my chest.
I press into you as you rush above me. Attempt to catch my breath. Breast over heart. Lips over neck. Settling into this fierce anticipation of the salt on my skin. Again. And again.
The water within us is the same. Reflective. Protective. Uncharacteristically vulnerable. Amused by the similarities. Drawn in by the complexities of balance. We gravitate towards the unfolding potential. Our love is buoyant. Intimate. Resilient. Passion pulls us under. On a quest for the lessons of this pulsing red, while floating in a sea of blue. This sea of you.
You enter me, but not in a literal way. Not in an easy way. Not yet. Wanting to fuck and make love in equal increments. The raw and rough. The gentle and sensual.
Getting distracted again. Tempted. Self-pleasing backfiring. Shaking the roots. Forcing the suspension of desire. Reaching for something more intentional. Reaching past my waistline. The long play. The honesty. The bursting reality. The integration. Stronger than the ache. Principles are set on something grander. A deeper shade of blue.
Holding the tension until the energy breaks me down the middle. Holding my breath. Diving. Gasping. Surrendering. Finding peace in this singular focus. Reaching for the soft powder beneath my feet. Running my fingers through all your ripples and shadows. Absorbing you. Showing you that I can fit into the hidden caverns inside of you. Render you weightless.
That’s the thing with water, it can take any form. It flows and transforms. It makes space for light to enter. For me to enter. It decides who sinks or swims, and I can do both equally well.
Tiffany Bisconer is a bursting-hearted lover of all things passionate and is quite intent on squeezing the most out of her life’s potential. She is a bona fide beauty connoisseur with an exceptionally hungry brain, and has become quite accustomed to fighting for some sense of equilibrium between a complete surrender to dreamscaped idealism and the stubborn tempering of pragmatism. In her attempt to quiet and express the oft urgent and clawing desires of her being, she dances, sings, photographs, writes, paints, loves or otherwise finds some manner in which to siphon the voice of her heart. You could connect with her via her website, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest or Tumblr.