Sunrise From Indigo
Strange Cup of Tea: Lance
By Mariah

Sex isn't love. Sex is mechanical. I could love you without having sex with you. I do love you without having sex with you. I try to convey that to you in every day we share. I couldn't have sex with you without loving you. That's not a distinction that I try to convey to you. I just assume you know.

While that is all so true, sex with you is good. I like it. I enjoy it. I want it.

When your fingers dance on my skin, I lose myself. You take my cares and worries away with your touch. I wonder if you feel the same way when the situation is reversed.

You blow my mind. With you, I'm just a mass of senses, feelings, and emotions. I don't think, I only feel. I'm just open and with you in the moment. I'm connected to you. I'm everything that you are.

I want to tell you all of this. I want you to know the gift you give me over and over again. Every time we connect, I give you all of myself. That is love. For me, that is the epitome of our love.

Sex is just a very nice perk.

The connection I share with you is the pot of gold.

"Joey?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I love you."

"Love you, too." And I know you do. It's clear in the way your arms wrap around me and the way your skin presses flush against mine. Your actions tell it all.

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