You Made Us Tea
I remember the morning when I surprised you at your door. I did not tell you that I had been constructing symphonies of my love for you in my sleep, since I had left you the evening before. I wanted to see your eyes grow when you saw me through the mesh that separated us. And they did. My arrival caused impossible shots of light between us, reigniting the desire we had put on hold for 8 hours of separation. We danced around each other in a silent childish excitement trying to contain ourselves, until we could contain ourselves no more. It took 10 minutes of forced demure before we were ready to combust. I took a shower to stop the flutter in my heart from flying out of my mouth, and you made us tea. While the kettle boiled, you came to make sure that I was ok. I was more than that. When the kettle boiled over, you left me to dry off. I dressed and tried to slow my breath to a pace I thought would not appear overwhelmed. When I reappeared in your kitchen to help you put the milk in the tea, I saw it. We breathed in a symphony of texture and colour that was familiar to only our hearts alone. You turned to me and held me tightly with your overwhelming arms, engulfing the whole of me, and there in that embrace, while we waited for our tea to cool, we slowed our breath together. It was the only way.