It warms me to even invision such a thing. Makes me want to wrap my own arms around my shoulders, embrace myself, and bask in the radiant sun's rays. Makes me want to throw back my head and close my eyes and moan with pleasure. Let the slow, moist warmth whisper up my neck and into my ear. Open myself to sensations and let my own steam warm the air.
Oh, to not open my eyes and see the sterility of reality. To not feel the coolness creep into the air. To not hear my voice echo in the ghosttown of the day. To not turn my embrace into a frightened grasp. To not tighten up into a little ball and roll aimlessly. To not flinch at the voice of honesty. To not stay trapped like a hungry mouse.
To be free.
We're in the same boat you and I. It's not the motorized life boat with the store of staple goods. And it's nothing so glamorous as a sinking titanic. It's just a dinghy with no oars and 3 weeks away from land. And we're both frightened.
I would do anything for some coconuts, bamboo and a professor. Professor of love, that is. Yes, I've spent a considerable amount of time looking for that life raft to carry me away to some exotic port. But I haven't seen it, yet. Not unless it was one of those dark ships that passed me by in the night. Might have been the czechoslovakian carrier, the African pirate ship, the hand crafted rowboat the Doughboy cruiser called Mother. There was even an Irish tugboat. All of them seemed to miss my pathetic distress calls over that black, pulsing sea. I guess I am going to have to start paddling, but frankly, I only know how to do it doggie-style.