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 May 2013 Tanya T
Mads
Dream
 May 2013 Tanya T
Mads
I like when we squish together.
And your sleepy breaths crash
Like waves
Onto my cheek.
And your heavy hand
Rests perfectly into the curve of my hip.
And your chest rises and falls
Unpredictably and constantly.
And the whispers of your dreams
As I slip into my own,
Where I dream of a moment
Exactly like
This.
It is simply a dream in reality, and a perfect moment I attempted to capture in writing.
 May 2013 Tanya T
Steffanie
The sun leaks in past the curtains it's warmth spilling all over our blanket covered skin. Our limbs are intertwined and the gentle silence of our contentment sighs    
a solitary sound of our breath brushing past eachother's skin.    
'lids flutter and through dark eyelashes deep blue oceans peer into my soul, seeing only me as I see you.      
A smile peaks out from behind your soft rose colored lips, bringing me a new kind of internal warmth.    
Your mouth floats across the pillow landing ever so softly on the tip of my nose as I breathe into you.  
Inhaling deeply, my lungs fill with the sweet air of a soul so divine.
Fingers dance effortlessly across smooth, creamy, flesh as an absence ever present drifts slowly into the abyss and out of memory.    
At that moment we are two bodies melting into one inseparable mass of love and devotion and we are whole.  
A perfectly sculpted chest rises and falls in sync with my own .  
Your soothing lips press against mine as we drift into a peaceful slumber.
This is bliss.
This is happiness.
You are sunshine
And I am yours for eternity.
TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

— The End —