Are Tadpoles Allowed to Love?

Lying on the floor (again), I watch demons meet pleasure growing and expanding
though my pelvis.  What is buried here?  Is this sexual?

Noon is in the air.

I want the way I love to be unrestrained by archaic morality.  But the dilemma has existed since I was young:  How do I reconcile the yearning to break my heart against the beauty of this world with the voice that threatens me with unlovability if I do?  I am wrong.  I am three years old and the way I love is bad.

The sun beats down on my body. My nipples are erect.  Now my identity has been trapped in thinking sex is the only way to love as big as I do, that sexuality has to exist in a certain form.  I must be a young woman - blond - american - beautiful. I must be porn star sexy, smart sexy, post pubescent katrina sexy...to love like this.

Do caterpillars love?  Are tadpoles allowed to love?

The way I love - an omnidirectional hug desirous of merging, putting our bodies in touch, where we can togetherfeel the pleasures and pain of our anatomy.  Stretching physical sensation.  Is this sexual?

What is sexuality? Where does it begin?

As I look at the reflection of my naked body in this computer screen, I feel shackled to its
form.  Strong limbs, smooth skin, cheerful breasts framing my bellybutton.  The buds of fear swell; open.

What will happen to how I love when those breasts sag down, lying pancake flat
against a saggy midsection? How will I love if I do not carry the correct configuration? Three years old and I had to wait for the development of this fleshape so that my love would be worth something - so that it could be expressed, accepted, acceptable.

Of course I'm attached to it.

So now I practice dying.  Lying on the floor, typing at my computer, hugging you - I die into myself.  I go beyond the frontiers of form.  Is this sexual?