Partialities, Come Into My Morning

by Charlotte E. Wilde

Three hours of sleep and my world won’t stop wavering. I feel partial this morning and thoughts are reacting the way thoughts often will, running reality’s red lights and of course they’re of you. This morning is a race to see if shaking hands can outrun the remnants of last night’s mix of merlot and separations that felt endlessly long until they felt close enough to slide on skin then disappear in sleep.

Let’s spend the morning together rejecting lucid thoughts and consider the brilliance, the perfection of our bodies for a moment. Skin, that complex organ, able to tell you not only the precise location of a pair of fingertips but also to judge the weight of the self to whom they belong. Measured in splayed electric tentacles and shifting tectonics that lurch in stomachs and minds, voiding lies by omission because skin cannot be fooled.

I can picture it sometimes, the translocation happening beneath the scars and freckles that ripple, pulse, reverberate my Sylvan Esso base. You lean to me, I lean to you and space closes all but completely until my atoms realign to the static of your electricity—straining towards your charge— willing, waiting for that first crackling contact.

Let’s spend the morning sifting through last night. Breathless I whispered my mouth couldn’t form the words, omitting body’s thrumming treble that twitched in time with the cadence of your mind. Miles between us didn’t diminish every stroke of your tongue as you worked through fantasy’s forbidden fodder. Yawn veiled sighs masked truths of sweat beads slipping silky slopes and laughter’s low caress rambled oblivious, barging though the hazy heat, blissfully unaware but no less distracting.

I can picture it sometimes when visceral thoughts of you slide into the cracks and crevices of a life I had formerly thought to be full. I picture you everywhere and it consumes me, more so in this moment than ever before.

So let’s spend the morning together reminiscing, constructing rote memories of realities that only exist remotely and not caring; they’re no less real when sleeplessness wavers two partial people whole. Let’s spend the morning lazily leaning, slowly exploring until collective consciousness swells and submerges reservation’s logic with mountaintops and resolve. Let’s spend the morning  learning each other’s dips, angles, scars and secrets— pulsing minds and skin— finger painting canvases until we can’t tell ourselves apart anymore.

Let’s spend the morning just being [together].

Do you want to?