I can feel his love. Sometimes I think I can taste it.
It hums around me, even while he remains distinct, self-possessed, contained. I feel it when we walk in silence along the canal, peering into the riverboats. I feel it when we’re in a roomful of friends, eating roast lamb, and he puts a hand. a gentle hand, on the small of my back. I feel it on the phone, in exchanges and in silences – warm, pulsating silences, hearing each others’ breathing. I feel it when we stir in sleep. And I feel it when we are on the rugged tracks of desire, careering towards something, pitching this way and that, threatening to tip over any moment, when his hands are in my hair, and he is inside me, and I am biting him, and we are all teeth and claws and wings. – Katherine Angel, Unmastered: A book on Desire, Most Difficult to Tell, p.92.
This book just swept me away.
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