I Want More
I want more . . . .
More of those sleepy mornings, my head on your chest and our legs tangled. More of those cozy nights with you as the big spoon, your chest warm on my back, your lips on my neck and arms tightly around me.
Bliss
A weekend morning with troughs of coffee on the couch in our lounging clothes- hair mussed, news on in the background, laughing and planning the day. You make me buttermilk pancakes with fresh blueberries and thick slices of bacon on the side. All is well with the world.
What was better than that?
Am I the only one who notices and appreciates all these little things? Do others just gloss over them, assuming they’ll always come again? There will always be more?
Who is better off? Me – the one so tuned in, relishing every morsel of warmth and sweetness? Maybe – but that only leaves me hyper aware of it’s absence when it’s gone; the cold and solitude tortuous and inescapable. Then there are the glossers – enjoying it less when they have it, but also missing it less when it’s not there.
I can tell which type you are by dining with you. The way you order, what you order and how you eat it when it arrives at the table. I’ve come to learn that I won’t be happy for very long with a glosser.
Will you look at your meal appreciatively when it arrives, inhaling the fragrance deeply? Do you enjoy each mouthful, noticing the texture and delighting in the interplay of flavors dancing in your mouth or do you shovel it in hurriedly and distractedly swallowing quickly? Most certainly, the dining room translates to the bedroom.
I don’t want the fast food lover, the one who eats the same four things again and again, or the instant/from a box kind of person. The body builders may look great but their food is just fuel – a means to an end; the proper ratio of grams of protein to brown rice and vegetables with minimal taste and zero pleasure.
I want to sit across from the person who orders the truffle potatoes and rosemary scented chicken whose eyes crinkle in a satisfied smile and twinkle at the first bite. The lover who opens the chocolate lava cake slowly with his spoon watching the warm dark chocolate flow, and works hard to compose the perfect bite of cake, to melty inside, to vanilla scented whipped cream and feeds it to me across the table will be my kindred spirit. Food is sensual. Food is love. Savor it slowly and completely.
