In The Ambit of Jupiter

 I am in the ambit of Jupiter; a satellite of hers, held in her gravity; her presence looming over half of my sky.  I now know the size of love.  It is planet-sized.  It is so big so as to seem without end.  To live in the globe of providence is to see eternity.  She is the goddess of providence to me, like the Roman god;  Jupiter.  All good things come from her.  If it doesn’t come at first, all I have to do is be patient and wait.  I can sit alone in the living room, with the television on and the sounds coming in and I can feel lost in her absence though she is only in the other room, doing what she does and she will eventually come into the room and move towards me, generating my senses towards her, drawing my attention to her as she sits next to me.  She will reach out with her hand and carress my thigh, stroking me deeply til her smallest finger brushes my crotch, giving me that intimate attention and my life is sent to her through the air, through the divide between us.  I can reach out and hold her shoulder and close that divide so her body is against mine and I will feel the deepest satisfaction and joy, as if life has found its center and can cease its petulant flux in satisfaction.  I never have to wait long to feel this.  We make love at least three times a day still, because I never want to be without for very long.  In that, she makes me feel like a god, too.  A rumbling god on the mountain, wanting supplication.  I can take these intimate moments and become more powerful, stand and make demands.  She always confirms my faith in the bounty of the world and she does so joyously. Sometimes after making love to her, I am so spent, that I roll over onto the bed, feeling ten times heavier than I actually am.   I feel as if I am pressed down into the mattress, held in a powerful physical pull that refuses to let me rise.  My heart pounds and my lungs rush to catch up and I am overwhelmed by the euphoria that has filled my arteries.  This is the rapture.  I look over to Theia, so close to me she encompasses most of my vision and is blurred.  She too is enthralled in her own throes of gravitational bliss.  She might look back at me and we may laugh at ourselves.  Other times we are lost to each other in our moony solitudes.  It is only when our bodies come down from these heights that we can rise and walk on wobbly legs and weak knees off the bed and to wherever we need to go.  The first step off the bed is always the hardest.