Darkening night sky
Crescent moon shape between you and I
Taste of lust on your lips
Hand brushes slowly up my thigh.

Whisper your name
Fist clenched sheets
Learning the language your body speaks.
Bringing me toward my defeat.

I get undressed and pat my bed
Until I find the pillow that rests beneath my head.
As I slide beneath the sheets,
I can't help but get excited
As I hear the pitter patter of your feet.
Then the bed creaks,
And as you get closer,
My face gets hotter. I'm sure it's as red as a beet.
Now, I feel something close to my face.
It's not my pillow, but a warm embrace.
As my head lays to rest, I can't help but wonder
if it's cradled in your hands or your *******.
As I lay there, tears stream down my cheek
And then, I feel blessed as I hear you, my angel, speak.
"What's wrong, my love?" you say as you wipe away my tears.
"I just wish I could see you.
To be able to look you in the eyes and "thank you."
You have no idea how much it means to have you here."
You just smile, kiss my head,  and stroke my hair until we fall asleep here in my bed.

i kiss you everywhere
you are naked and *****...











let's go for it! let's do it now

i cry myself to sleep at night
i shift side to side
pointlessly
as the pain just follows

i can't trace its roots
everything just aches
whether if i'm asleep
or wide awake

Don't know what you want me to say.
But I won't lie
We're not okay.
I can't believe I feel this way
But my skies have turned
From blue to gray.
Lying in this bed we made
I think about this game we played.
We used to be partners in crime
But I guess it's true
All things change with time.
You used to be the one for me.
You used to be my star.
I remember the way we used to kiss
When you climbed into my car.
Now our story's ending,
There's only one thing left to say.
I'm sorry baby,
I'm sorry baby
But I think I might be gay.

The Endeavors of Lips
by Michael R. Burch

How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love ...

Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days,
for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways
that curled to the towers of Yesterdays
where She braided illusions of love ...

"O, let down your hair!"—we might call and call,
to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ...
but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl
like a spidery illusion. For love ...

was never as real as that first kiss seemed
when we read by the flashlight and dreamed.

Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Eclectic Muse (Canada). Keywords/Tags: Childhood, children, bed, bedtime, story, flashlight, kiss, goodnight, dreams, pleasures, lips, fantasy, illusion

Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch

Indescribable—our love—and still we say
with eyes averted, turning out the light,
“I love you,” in the ordinary way

and tug the coverlet where once we lay,
all suntanned limbs entangled, shivering, white ...
indescribably in love. Or so we say.

Your hair’s blonde thicket’s thinned and tangle-gray;
you turn your back; you murmur to the night,
“I love you,” in the ordinary way.

Beneath the sheets our hands and feet would stray ...
to warm ourselves. We do not touch, despite
a love so indescribable. We say

we’re older now, that “love” has had its day.
But that which love once countenanced, delight,
still makes you indescribable. I say,
“I love you,” in the ordinary way.

Published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Mandrake Poetry Review, Carnelian, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Famous Poets and Poems, FreeXpression, PW Review, Poetic Voices, Poetry Renewal, Poetry Life & Times; also winner of the 2001 Algernon Charles Swinburne Poetry Award

Keywords/Tags: Villanelle, ordinary, commonplace, everyday, love, bed, sheets, warmth, comfort, delight, limbs, night, light, white, hair, back, hands, feet, romance, passion, desire, longing, ***, intimacy

Betwixt these sheets,
I lie, ablaze.
In this blanket maze,
I run, deathless.
Hidden in vulnerable darkness,
I protect, ardently.
On my stomach, lying low,
I regret, somberly so.