with your old watch on my wrists and my thumbs inside your mouth

by Rachel Lynch in


I rise in the morning, spending the night before making free love to beats of science. Sometimes I want to run and tell him everything. All of it, just explain what’s going on in my head. Instead, I find myself wrapping my fingers around his hair and intertwining my legs with his. The sheets of our bed become as intrinsic as the morning spilling in through the window. With him, I find a way to express my lucid energy through the physical. Every touch and pull is a release of some freedom I can’t quite specify in any other way. Interlacing our hands and bodies allows me to engage in him and  in the world. With our simple movements and idyllic gestures I can begin to see our special fate as humans, our inexpressible valuable condition.

As and artist I am living and I’m never going to stop living.