I yearned for a touch
To reach through into
The deep of me.
Yearned for a voice
that'd create in me
a trembling
Soul filled with
anticipation.
And this you gave,
But oh how quickly
You take it away.
Barely a lingering taste
On my lips.
You've slipped away
In silence
Like water droplets
Slipping from the petals
Of an unfurling flower;
Condensation that dewed
Upon the vibrant blooms
In the soft night,
Only to dissipate in dawn's light.
Leaving me only
with questions,
pondering the now dying
Fire, soft embers,
within your
eyes.

Something about the way
You hold your wine glass
Intrigues and piques me.
The way the condensation
Contrasts with the heat
That emanates from your hand;
Water droplets slipping between
your fingers. your honey skin
Evocative of the sweet Chardonnay
From which you sip bequaething
The glass with red lips stains.
There's something about the imagery
That leaves me yearning for a taste.

I stumbled upon you
Like a child
that finds a pretty stone

Bewildered by your presence
I sat and admired
Counting your cracks
Caressing what makes you glitter

You stood infront of me
Bold and beautiful
Like nothing I'd ever seen

And as you gave me your attention
I think I misconstrued your intentions

I wanted to put you in my pocket
But you said no

So there you sit
Perfectly unpolished
A love

I can only visit

unpromise me forever;
abandoned lovelorn that I've become,
I need to be free from
the paradox of your absent
stagnance.

A memory that brings sharp pangs.
A better-left-empty cup of coffee.
A Winter that promises to get colder.
Today, a high of -10° degrees.
And then she steps into the room.
Into my world.
A flower in perpetual bloom,
A smile that outshines stars
A laugh that radiates the dark.
Today,  sparks fly deep in my heart
And I again feel warmth.

Don't force yourself to forget.
leaves still fall in Autumn,
And flowers still bud in spring.

My fingers tickle against
The soft fibers of the first page
In a manuscript written with
dedicated ardence. I
admire the ink uncials, left behind
By eloquent whispers passed from
Your eyes, to My lips.
From your tongue
To my skin.
Salacious words succulent
That permeate the thick paper,
Like heavy breaths from a prurient
Night.
I savor the memory,
Turning over the page to find
Blank linen sheets left awaiting,
for letters and punctuation
Until, poem after poem,
A new chapter again
we commence.