I love to watch her rise,
gaze into her amber eyes
from afar,
reflecting their beauty
as she draws her bath,
exposes her porcelain,
flawless
lovely-orbs
to the droplets.

And from
my vantage point
hidden,
I watch her sweetest moments,
fold upon fold,
I am held spellbound,
breathless
to her tender caresses,
lost in the rain
& crying joy.

Strange, how
when I think of you,
I think of pomegranates,
I think of raging streams
& pistachio ice cream
& the planets.

I think of
your malachite eyes
& whiskey,
& how you made
me feel in Manaus,
smoking twisties.

Yesterday,
at 3:31 in the morning,
I was thinking about
your firm thighs
& your tender touch
& the reasons why
I cry.

But mostly,
I think I think
too much.

I want to be as free as the smoke that escapes from your chapped lips.

I smell of you
the musky scent of your cologne rubbed into my hair,
my skin
still warm and sensitive to any form of touch
the baby hairs on the back of my neck
crave
your soft, warm breath.
I lean into you
my smile collides with yours
our lips press
our tongues
search
for the love we so badly desire.

Muscles sprinting
Spirit lifting
Droopy eyelids opening
Sallow skin brightening
Mind awakening to the twisted,
lovely authenticity of life.

The thought of you
is like
a cold sore on my tongue;
the pain is dull and
disappears
before I have the chance to
get used to it.