Saturday, 23 July 2011

Purely physical, you were (are) the rush of blood to my head. 
The pounding in my chest like I've run that bloody mile minus the three and a half laps of that bloody track. 
The pulse in my thumb sometimes when I've jammed it or perhaps split it and it sounds just like when I press my fingertips against your chest. 
My head is spinning but that's daft. 
You cannot analyse this feeling. 
You say it's just a weakness that we're only human but how else would we reach this heightened sense of longing and why else would I be staring so very intently at you? 
Blood, sweat and tears and heat and heart. 
Which is which and who is who is beyond me. 

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