i was sitting on the metro the other day, listening to a particularly nostalgic song. but the type of nostalgia you feel for things that haven't happened to you yet. like when you listen to van morrison and drink wine at the same time.
i miss the lips on the base of my neck, from behind me. a surprise. the way he can put his hand just in the right spot on your back and it feels like it melts into you. i miss the way a man pulls you towards him in the door frame, under the dimming lights outside. the way his scruff feels on your face. the way you can press down on his chest and know he likes it.
i heard an interview the other day where a man said when he gets a whiff of a woman's shampooed hair or perfume his soul lifts through the ceiling.
that's kinda how you feel when the right man passes by and you can smell some vague remnant of cologne, and the freshly washed shirt he is wearing out that night - the mix of him and clean sheets on a comfortable bed - that's kinda how you feel.
i miss the lips on the base of my neck, from behind me. a surprise. the way he can put his hand just in the right spot on your back and it feels like it melts into you. i miss the way a man pulls you towards him in the door frame, under the dimming lights outside. the way his scruff feels on your face. the way you can press down on his chest and know he likes it.
i heard an interview the other day where a man said when he gets a whiff of a woman's shampooed hair or perfume his soul lifts through the ceiling.
that's kinda how you feel when the right man passes by and you can smell some vague remnant of cologne, and the freshly washed shirt he is wearing out that night - the mix of him and clean sheets on a comfortable bed - that's kinda how you feel.
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