Inhaling you.

We met for the first time under the arches of London Bridge. You were wearing a red t-shirt and a sweet smile and I hid behind large sunglasses and suddenly forgot how to breathe. I remember taking in your broad chest, strong shoulders and boys swagger and all I wanted to do was climb into your arms and inhale you.

We walked into the club and let our friends do the talking. I stood back and leant against a chair in the office while the terms of our fund raiser were negotiated and stole secret glances at you. You smiled at me and I wanted to trace the dimple on your cheek with my fingers.

After the meeting we went to the pub by the river for a drink. I liked the way you laughed and wanted to close my eyes and listen to the deep tones of your voice as you shared your stories. I remember thinking how beautiful you looked from the soft lines of your neck all the way down to the perfect masculine shape of your hands. I loved the way your eyes lit up every time you smiled and wondered how it would feel to have your arms wrapped tightly around me.

You caught the train that day although we invited you to share a cab and I pushed you from my mind and convinced my self that age and sense had made me cleverer than to fall for the imaginings of a bewitched mind.

Some times I remember those first moments and can still feel the butterflies in my belly. The excitement of knowing you will be somewhere still fills me with giddiness bubbling up from my belly and making me fingertips tingle. We fell in love on the dirt tracks across Uganda and I spend my days watching you smile and tracing the soft line of your dimple. I listen to you laugh and it warms my soul just as much as closing my eyes to absorb the tones of your voice does. I climb into your arms everyday and inhale you and I can’t imagine a time when I won’t want to do that anymore.