I laid in my bed, staring out my broken screen window,
And I thought of you.
The stars in the sky remind me of your mind,
An endless galaxy of thought and memory.
I dreamed with open eyes that you laid next to me,
Whispering small things in my ear
And gently tracing the scars on my arm.
The small blisters covering my skin
Throbbing and sensitive under your calloused fingers.
We could talk about the little things that make life great,
Or you could kiss me senseless.

These hopes and thoughts repeat every night.
The imagery and technicolor thoughts leave shivers
Running through my entire body. I know you dream of this, too.

Love me until I am me again.

Love me until you feel my essence
Seeping through the gaps between your fingers
Until you find watermarks of my actuality
Etched into the ripples of your sheets

Hold me until you plunder the depths of my soul
Until you explore my entire existence
Every inch
Every crevice
And every splinter

Kiss me until your lips find the humanity inside me
And the wickedness withers away in your arms

Love me until I belong to myself
Love me until I am me again.

I've often thought

Of the way your breath
would feel upon my neck.

A wondrous sensation,
I desire your hands to caress.

Every single crevice of my body

I long to know of,
the way your eyes would slowly raise,
gaze, and lock upon mine  

That moment, where time and space cease to exist.

The kiss before the kiss.

A coming together of the beauty between thy heaving breaths.
A small fraction of a second, before our lips have finally met.

© 2013 Christina Jackson

Hands are underrated; I think
The comforting touch: the human link
Palms on thighs
Fingers entwined

Hands are underrated; as I understand
The feel of another: the hope of a hand
Palm to palm
Fingers dancing to song

Hands are underrated; I know
Gentle or aggressive. Both loving so
We'll love skin to skin
We'll live like eachothers twin

Never forgetting the comfort of hands
Because losing can devastate but no one understands

trail my fingers along my thighs.
nothing like the graze of your
honeyed tongue.
dig my nails into my skin.
doesn't compare to your fervent teeth
on my collarbone.
whisper your name into the dark.
if only your storm sea eyes
could look at me.
and dazzle me.
and drown me.
and devour.
devour.
me.

I could trace patterns in your skin,
erase it like sand and start drawing again.
My hands would never get tired,
they would chase the sun and moon away.
Caressing you to sleep is a productive use of time,
muscle-memory repeating the designs of infatuation.
Lulling you into dreams with my fingers,
then waking you when the light creeps up the sheets.
Fingertips replaced with lips,
space between bodies closing,
skin is so addictive, especially yours.