The Hunger of My Soul
The most profound poem
exists right before
your lips meet mine…
when my tongue awaits
that first teasing taste
of your essence…
that which sustains me,
all while demanding
I take in more.
Pure pleasure—haunting,
true—exquisitely
executed…
in that whisper of
anticipation,
that makes me weep…
and my mind spin, though
as of yet, only
our breath has touched.
© Sierra Kummings 2015
What recharges you?
Sex? Relaxation? A nice bottle of wine? One-on-one time with the great outdoors?
I had a wonderful opportunity to have all the above for one glorious week—for seven days, I was able to sleep when I wanted, eat when I wanted, write when I wanted, oh, and did I mention sleep? All with the backdrop of the ocean outside my hotel’s window.
Pure perfection.
Add in the hunk of a man next to me, whose sex drive matches mine?
Not just perfection… heavenly.
Seriously, I actually heard angels singing at one point.
Of course we were right next to the service elevator… probably more likely to have been hotel staff than a divine being. But who cares? I certainly stopped after orgasm number—
(Hubby says enough… I need to have something to save for my stories. So on that note…)
Why am I telling you about such bliss?
To rub a sixty-hour workweek in your face? A sleepless night up with a sick toddler?
No, not at all. The opposite in fact. I’m trying to impress on you the importance of finding your own break.
I won’t lie—my personal life is hard. My daughter’s medical needs are complex and new worries pop up frequently, I get very little sleep on a regular basis, and the physicality of taking care of my growing girl is wearing my body down. But each day, I’m blessed with her smiling face, a few inspired hours of writing time, and frequent sessions of pulse-pounding sex with my husband. So while my life is hard, I’m still able to experience small moments of spiritual recharge—a necessity due to the constant lack of sleep.
But still, over time, within weeks really, I start to feel the build-up around my shoulders, the tension in my chest that comes out as frustration at the slightest provocation… fellow sleepless sufferers… you feel me, right? Between my natural insomnia and my daughter’s love of middle-of-the-night party sessions, it doesn’t take long for sleep deprivation to set in.
This week, this one week a year, restores my sanity, rebuilds my marriage, and reminds me what it’s like to feel like me again.
But it’s not just vital to me. It makes me a better mother, a more attentive wife, and a more dedicated writer.
I’ve got a lot going on this upcoming month. Several doctor’s appointment for baby girl, and several professional deadlines, as well. The fact the latter are self-imposed does nothing to lessen their urgency. It’s time to find Morrow’s Horizon a home, but I can’t do that until the last revisions are finalized, and my query letter and summaries cleaned up. And of course I can’t leave you hanging on the finale of Foreplay… for long anyway.
So what about you? Are you ever granted a full week to recharge? Or do you reach for moments like quickies in the afternoon, grabbing as many as you can whenever the opportunity arises?
Sierra Kummings 