Like Freedom

It feels like freedom. 
Wild winds whistle in my ear, and I sniff deep the many perfumes of passing Earth:
grass, burn piles, foul forgotten carcasses, charcoal grills, honeysuckles, and crisp post-rain air. 
My life is in my lover’s hands; My hands are on his waist.
One wrong move would shatter my bones and grate my flesh like fine parmesan…. 

But it feels like freedom.