If I took a lover,

he would be the gentle breeze. His cool breath against my shoulder would send the slightest of chills down my spine, causing steam to rise from the heat of my flesh, as if I were born of the hotsprings themselves. I would burn for him; I would find myself squirming under his very presence in anticipation. I would yearn for him; I would find myself unbearable in my warmth as long as he was near. I would shamelessly arch my body until his relief was across me once again.

If I took a lover, he would be the violent wind. I would stand on a hilltop underneath the gray moody skies, allowing him to toss my hair about, stinging my face. I would raise my arms to the fickle heavens, and he would tear my clothes off as if they never belonged on my body in the first place. I would open my mouth and take him in, breathing so deep that he could choke me if he so desired. The cold gusts and spirals would devour me like a willing sacrifice, and we would tumble down the hill together, feeling the wet grass caress the backs of our very beings.

If I took a lover, he would be the knowing gale. I would hear his voice calling to me from outside, beckoning me to come out so he could share his secrets of the sky with me and me alone. He would know my pains and he would know my pleasures. He would hear the question in my head and would caress my face with his answer. We would converse and laugh like old friends. He would flow into me like water into water. He would come into me without fear of repercussion or despair. I would take all of him into me and feel at home again. Finally. 

Finally.