Iff

My fantasy for Valentine’s Day is for us to share a special meal and a decent bottle of wine followed by a really nice dessert, something chocolatey and rich, after which we retire to bed, turn off the lights, take off all our clothes and get under the covers exploring each other with our fingertips while we share everything about ourselves, every hope, dream, fear, insecurity, childhood memory, existential doubt, secret, worst moment, best moment and fantasy and we discuss them at length and in great detail until we each gain an understanding of ourselves that only a few of the most dedicated lamas have ever even achieved, a cogent psychological and pathological comprehension that enables us to know exactly why we are the way we are and prophetic insight into what each of our futures looks like and we share all of this information with each other until we know each other better than any two people have ever known one another, able to anticipate the other’s needs and desires, empowering us to be more generous lovers than all the figures dreamt up by the poets and artists, coming together as one entity, in wholly pursuit of physical and emotional rapture until, using a special breathing technique heretofore unknown, we reach an ecstatic release of involuntary reverberation and full body orgasm for several minutes that feels like eons because of the breathing, during which we approach the singularity, a complete harmony with all living things, and after which we are just a ravel of two souls, an amorphous puddle of carbon and calcium and water with a total grasp of the universe and life for whom time has lost all meaning and we recognize that our physical forms are just temporary vessels that our spirits will inhabit for the blink of the galaxy’s eye and just before we succumb to a most deep and restful slumber we decide that we’re finally ready to be poly.