She came to me in a dream this morning. It was a pleasant summer day much as it is today. We were living in I suppose a small house on a quiet street is a small town.
We were lounging in comfortable lawn chairs, reading and talking. The shade was cool and the sun was comfortable. What we were talking about didn’t matter, we were talking and laughing about nothing and everything. Thats how it is with your other half. It does not matter what it is you’re talking about. All that matters is that you are talking. Talking with that other half of who you are. It’s strange that way.

When I returned to the dream we were making love, yes again. Making love with someone your this close to is like taking communion, the holy sacrament. There is no shame no hesitation no selfish desire.
Like wrestling with God. You’re naked before them and they before you. You wrestle, play, pass looks of don’t you dare, giving care and attention as well as recievng.
And like communion there is alway’s the epiphany.

The little death, “peu de morts”. And then the resurrection into that basking summer afternoon love that just leaves you spent, sprawled and exposed to the day and the rest of your life.

I can remember every mole, every scar, every scent, the glow of her red curls in the summer sunlight thru the window. Oh and the look of complete trust complete contentment.
I once joked at the expressions she had while making love and she was mock insulted, and I smiled and said why? You get to hear me whimper and sigh?

And life has been good, life has been perfect. To have been given such a gift to know someone so well, my other, such a perfect part of myself.