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Saturday, January 17, 2009

Desire Talking

my hands poised over you,
I was ready to create

on your paper skin
with my ink sweat,
in passion's mode I knew
I must write you --

there I was, between
your glinting hairs
that shot back
as I moved in --

there you were,
and I wanted you,
I wanted it all with you, so

I told you how I'd die for you,
as our tongues got lost
in a funnelled maze that echoed
thunder-whispers speckled
like a stormy sky,

our faces together, our lips, tied
by fleeting touches of limbs,
then not so fleeting,

desire kept talking,
choked nevertheless, but not erased,

simply encased in a submergence
of you and I
when our bodies
finally said yes.

A Divan for Dying: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

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