I was waiting to be struck by lightning.

Here's to listening to The Lumineers "I Don't Wanna Go"

I am sitting here utterly prepared to convey and scream my love through these fingers that stream my soul. 

This is about my love, my dual spirit, my other end of the here and now, Kevin Pierre Tomanovich. 

The one who cares not for his middle name (which is French for Peter, though he is Italian).

 The one who wears the bands of metal upon his fingers that I bought for him celebrating another year, the year that he was born. 

So that he may catch the sight of them out of the corner of his sweet smiling eyes and be reminded of me. 

That he may laugh out loud because a good moment that we shared was brought to life at the sight of these mixed metals, that he might be overcome by it. 

So that these infinite presents may bejewel his magic hands and keep the current of his life source. 

So that he may enjoy them, I bought him those rings. 

Because he likes them, and wanted them; as I like him and want him still. 

I think of this boy, this man, trapped in a boys body, young in flesh and always in spirit, though coated in wisdom. 

I think of this soul, labeled Kevin in this life and I might think of how we re-labeled ourselves. 

Deep in thought about how we have been called Dallas and Kevin, without choice, before we were even breathing the air that we recycle now, and we studied each others faces calmly and patiently, scanning each others unsaid ideas silently. 

"Who would I be if I wasn't Dallas?" 

Would I be a Ruby? 

A Diamond, a Sapphire? 

Am I a Clair as I sometimes feel? 

Am I bound to be just a Dallas, or could I ever possibly be the Roxanne I once wished for? 

I think not. 

We thought hard. 

I stood to challenge a mirror for answers as he watched me; I only presume his eyes followed me admiringly as they do, soaking me up like rays feeding a reptiles skin. 

Giving health through the sight of love; energy vicarious through lust. 

I saw myself, un-Dallas, no Taylor, no longer McMackin and considered Gemma, Coco, Emmylou, Fiona, Victoria and Vienna. 

He commented that I was partial to the letter V. 

He paid attention to me in that moment, and so many more. 

I felt like home, with him, even in the midst of having no name. Even if at that very second I looked in the mirror and couldn't tell who I was then and there, I knew for sure I was His. 

I had no name, no label, no title to turn my head and respond to. No denomination of familiarity to  appoint as me. 

Just that feeling, of a small cold ribbon interwoven with my bones, that if you cut me open located and read, would "I am Kevin's. 

I know not my name, what I know is that I love him". 

We called me Daisy. 

Saturated in each others stares, our hungry gazes smiled and I slipped this new term on for size, easy and loose over my head like a pink, silky slip.

 I pulled that name on and smoothed it over my skin.

 I let it sit and felt it tangibly. 

 I let it stretch out to my size and shrink to my shape. And there I was, born again, his Daisy. 

I saw this man, this boy in part, strewn out across my bed, head rested on an emerald satin pillow. 

He lay and existed in the most, nonchalant, gentle form. 

Hands interlaced behind his head, black hair like a ravens wing, dark and smooth and with the same sheen. 

He does it in the mirror, that mirror I pocketed Dallas in. 

Kept here hidden away, yet close to my heart in a secret breast pocket. 

Gazing at each other, satiating our insatiable hunger for each other in the collapse of our lips in a kiss. 

Meeting, lip-locked, found and quenched. 

Rejuvenated through our closeness, in the waft of our sudden scents, mingling, and our skin warm to one anothers touch. 

Cultivating the desired end result; closeness and the calamity of passion swayed by sweetness shared. 

Breathing again, I let flutter open my eyes and the light of the world met me like the end of a movie when everyone in the theaters gets up and goes on their way, I could carry on. 

After this kiss was set aflame, burned, and died. 

His face parallel to mine, mirrored in our care. 

His sweet cream skin, thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of his sweat, pure comfort to me. 

Noticeable and different from all other memory making scents. 

Here he was, within fingers reach, rough khaki material dutifully wrapping his long legs. 

Black canvas boots haphazardly laced and strapped on to bear the weight of the world. 

"Who would you be if you weren't a Kevin?" I asked this beautiful creature, with an affinity to bring me joy. 

"Jack" he said. 

so assured. 

Jack fit like fingerless gloves on a seamstress in the cold. 

Like a glass slipper who'd made it home. 

Like a harmonica finding a blues-mans lips. 

The note sang Jack, Jack and Daisy. 

So we used this moment as another excuse to hold each other fast. 

Long and swept up in one another, new beings to that moment. 

The re-kindling of the people we were and still tucked away in a breast pocket, are. 

This woman that I am here sitting and typing this bit on the computer, is Dallas. 

Dallas Taylor McMackin as I write this. 

Dallas, conveying the stories that Ms. Daisy describes to me as she is lolled out in the breeze like a tongue rolling down the couch. 

Dallas, as I smile at the thought of Daisy, and swoon at the thought of Jack, sometimes known as Kevin. 

Beautiful we are, moments unwound and knots to be picked soon enough. 

There's a ribbon of love, a lavender ribbon encrypted with the proof of my love, waving wildly within the storm of my heart.

Singed on the tips; telltale signs of lightning strike encounters.

-dm