I awaken this morning with you lingering
on the verge of my tongue, not your salty -
sweet sweat, but the unswallowable mention
of your name. I want desperately to consume
the mmmm's that flowed from my lips just
moments before the alarm jolts me to reality.
Try as I might, the aaaaahhhhh's won't digest either,
Nor the taaa taaa taaa's. I gasp.
It always starts this way when you are gone:
I curl into your invisible muscular arms, wrap legs
around firm nothingness and pretend that you are here.
I bury my face into your scent-laden pillow and inhale deeply.
The memory of our ********** is as implanted on ebony sheets
as it is in the cavernous walls of my mind. Your hands don't cease
to caress thighs and calves, nor your lips to flick ***** *******
just because you are away. This is how enmeshed we are.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 4:04 PM UTC
I awaken this morning with you lingering
on the verge of my tongue, not your salty -
sweet sweat, but the unswallowable mention
of your name. I want desperately to consume
the mmmm's that flowed from my lips just
moments before the alarm jolts me to reality.
Try as I might, the aaaaahhhhh's won't digest either,
Nor the taaa taaa taaa's. I gasp.
It always starts this way when you are gone:
I curl into your invisible muscular arms, wrap legs
around firm nothingness and pretend that you are here.
I bury my face into your scent-laden pillow and inhale deeply.
The memory of our ********** is as implanted on ebony sheets
as it is in the cavernous walls of my mind. Your hands don't cease
to caress thighs and calves, nor your lips to flick ***** *******
just because you are away. This is how enmeshed we are.
©2003 Lori Carlson
All poetry under the names Lori Carlson or Iona Nerissa are the sole property of Lori Carlson.
Please seek permission before using any of my writings.
~Lori Carlson~
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