Before You Make Love
Before You Make Love
Take off all of your clothes, alone and in the bathroom. Stare at your nipples. Call yourself “Beautiful” and see what happens. Touch your thatch of pubic hair, your stretch marks, and your round belly. Call yourself “Ugly” and watch what happens. Pretend you’re on a trampoline and you just won the lottery. Touch the mirror like it’s a window and your lover is just an unlatching of a lock away. Pinch your thighs and turn around. Bend over and try to kiss your kneecaps. Ask yourself when was the last time you touched silk. Look at your eyelids. Think of them as drawbridges or dicks. Eat a sandwich or fig. Lay in the branches outside, sigh, how sad and architectural all of this can be.
If you can lick fish bones, then you can take a lover. For a moment, pretend that you are going to be alone for the rest of your life. If you can go outside and see a road kill as a sign from God then you are ready to take a lover. If you can see that euthanasia is a beautiful name for a pet then you are ready to take a lover. Be a poet for a day. Be an artist for a day. Read something. Find yourself, which is behind your skin and has nothing to do with your heart and everything to do with your spirit. Tell your best friend that you think that you are amazing and glorious. Be amazing and glorious. Bend your bird body to the doors of the house as though you could make love to them. Say yes, and mean it.
Put your hand in your pajama bottoms and reach for everything private in your life. Touch jellyfish, July hotels and loosened hair. Drink some Chinese tea, eat some chocolate, talk about aphrodisiacs until you’re blue in the face. Touch yourself there and there and there. Don’t stop. Please. Smile at your life before dawn, but moan at your life when it finally wakes up.
Tell me your lover’s name and I will tell you that you’re wrong. Listen – your lover is not bed sheets or willow trees or empty sleeves, but everything in this world without a name. Whatever is most nameless, is most beautiful. Find your best friend in a species not yet discovered, find your best friend in words not written and those deep throat sounds that you meant to say, but couldn’t. If he says he loves anyone more than you, then he is wrong. Whenever you say, “I love you too,” he will never say “what do you mean?” He knows you just said, “I love God I love language I love bodies I love spirit I love horizon I love the Pacific Ocean I love the color of peaches I love suitcases I love sickness I love panic I love life” and etcetera is the closest you will ever get to the meaning of your love.
- Heather Bell (from her book, Nothing Unrequited Here - download, receive instantly!)