I knew it was something after we made love and meditated.

Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have a bed.

Because although it was rustic and made me feel like an earth goddess, lying naked on the floor is lying naked on the floor and lying naked on the floor can hurt my bony bits.

So when he asked if I wanted to sit with him, I felt a lot of things see I begin to feel a lot of things.

I feel my heart and the sternum that holds me. I feel my breath and my lungs that contain me. I feel my blood and my vessels that carry me. My insides are alive in a way that compares to that other yes thing and my whole container tightens. My whole container tightens but my insides are alive and…

Yes.

I say yes.

And maybe my yes is just my yoga teacher speaking, maybe my yes just means giving more support to my lumbar spine, maybe the meditating part is secondary. But regardless of the love for my spine or the love we just made, when he asks if I want to sit, I feel my container and I say yes.

He looks at me like a sparkler that’s about to start sparkling: “I’ll prepare the stools.”

He starts sparkling.

If I could blow it out I would. If I could blow it out, just for a second, I would. Just for a second to stop and ask:

Did that sparkle in his eyes almost outsparkle the sparkle from the first time I said yes to the thing we did just moments ago? I feel the sparkle in his eyes almost outsparkled the sparkle from the first time I said yes to the thing we did just moments ago.

My brain wants to be upset but my body is not. A sparkle is a sparkle and it makes me feel good. I let what wants to feel good feel good.

I resist the urge to blow out light.

He leaves the room.

I put on clothes and feel more naked.

He re-enters the room.

I can’t see his face because of the books. Something about “Quantitative Methods” is covering his eyes but I don’t need to see them and I don’t want to know about quantitative anything so I close my eyes and feel his glow. I open my eyes.

Two separate stacks.

He covers the books. The books become stools. He covers the bookstools in two pieces of patterned cloth. The books disappear and with sit-bones supported we sit on our stools. And although they appear similar in height, similar in patterned cloth, mine is made up of Financial Reporting and his Derivatives and Portfolio Management and we each have our own. Propped up by the pages of his MBA, we close our eyes.

We close our eyes and feel more naked.

I tune into sensation.

I feel my left nostril.

My left nostril is naked.

I tune into sensation on my naked left nostril.

Dear lovely left nostril, I know you are naked. I know you are scared and naked but I will stay with you.

I feel an expansion. I feel a contraction. I feel each expansion each contraction start to still what is fast and moving. I feel calm enough to move my awareness throughout my whole body. I feel the breath, the blood, the nerves, the heart and the container that carries it all.

I feel the container that carries it all and

I am not naked at all I am covered in vibrations.

I feel what is inside the container that carries it all and

I see home

I see home

I see home

I feel home

I feel home

I feel home

I come home.

The second time we did it there was a full moon and I straddled him. My legs over his my lips close enough to his but not touching. Close enough to feel each other’s breath but far enough apart to keep each exhale separate. Because, I can bring you to my home and you can bring me to your home but when we come home and we sit on our own separate bookstools we remember that yes waters merge but every river started somewhere.

And now, whenever we make love, whenever we come together, I want to come

Home.

Because to sit with you, to come home beside you is to be more real with you than if I took off all my clothes when I was sad and turned around slowly.

And the more familiar I am with my home, the more I’ll be able to let you in.

The more familiar I am with the door and its hinges and more I’ll be able to open it for you.

The more familiar I am with the walls that were stacked, the more I’ll be able to stand by you.

The more familiar I am with the floors that were laid the more I’ll be able to support you.

The more familiar I am with the roof that was built the more I’ll be able to cover you.

….

Weeks later he got a bed.

But we promised that no matter how much we enjoyed what was soft and lovely,

We’d always do it on the floor.

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Ed: Bryonie Wise