A quick poem.
I begin to formulate, forming a string of thoughts
I put together a sentence I'm fond of.
I ponder, smile and then light the thought on fire.
The string, now more of a fuse, consumed by the flame, shortens
The string burns getting closer to the bomb, my poem, the sweater from which my thought was pulled.
I close my eyes and cover my face expecting a bang.
I flinch and must look utterly insane for there is no bang, no pop, no explosion.
Nothing.
I must have been mistaken, like I am now, as I sit striving to unravel a sweater by only staring.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
The way you wrapped your legs around mine
slowly grinding against me
moving smoothly through the water
letting the steady motion guide us.
The way my hands wandered
weightless in the warmth
blindly making their way
across your wet marble skin.
The way your hair was carelessly put up
in a loose bun that draped, lazy
heavy to the right
outlining the tender chisels of your face.
The way my eyes investigated
tracing the dark lines of your body
meeting with your eyes for brief moments
then falling back into the curves of your hips.
I fear all of this is too much,
for me it's love, for you it's lust.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC