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Unknowable Patterns

How could anyone know what another thinks or feels?

July 1 2017

How could anyone know what another thinks or feels? What goes on in another’s head, in their body? What do the colours look like? What do you think of when you smell roses, or wood varnish?

You have a full spectrum of unknowable experiences that only you have catalogued. Swathes of light and movement stitch themselves together into patterns of thought that mean something wholly different to you than it ever could to me.

You touch my earlobe, my lips, the bridge of my nose, and neurons fire in my brain, pulsing through my central nervous system to raise a forest of follicles all over my body.

You run the tip of your tongue up my neck, and immediately my lungs need more oxygen to keep up with the rushing river that delivers life in drum beats.

The smell of your skin empties hormones into my deeper recesses, and reminds me of winters spent under blankets that my aunt stitched for me.

Your warm hand down my side feels like the colour brown, the kind you see in a glass of sunlit tea.

Your breath on my breast makes the rest of my body feel cold, like that time we stood on the pier, caught between the rain and the ocean spray.

Your fingers inside me tickle in that deep way that feels like rising and sinking at the same time.

Your tongue between my legs makes me stop thinking

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