fire and passion on our breathless
tongues,
we face,
in mirrored gaze.
Admiration and trust
turned by time
to frustration and lust,
a passion of crime.
“Time will tell,”
they say.
Time spent well.
Today,
tonight, lost
deep in beauty, lost again
in her scent, her soul, in mind and core
matched together,
lashed together in
friendship,
nothing more.
Sweet, rich wines,
California red
and white lines.
It’s a wonder we aren’t dead.
In the heat of this frozen moment
skin brushes on skin,
accidentally.
A happenstance too welcome,
a flash of heat, a sudden vision
of what might,
of what could be.
Wicked, wretched crimes,
fuelled by body, bereft
of honor and
drenched in passion,
a perfect theft.
Long weeks it’s been…
Days and hours aching,
and waiting
patiently
since the moment
when last he touched me.
Now she’s here,
sharing this couch,
sharing everything
that’s hers.
As she nears,
I long for her touch,
for sharing all the precious things
I have left.
Always there,
she holds my hand
while the storm rages,
the beating of our hearts
safe in the sand,
locked away and torn apart,
buried in cages.
Long seconds fall from the clock,
her voice reminding us lowly
tick, tock,
rhythmically, slowly,
she sings me to sleep in her arms.
Blue light fills the room
with song and story,
steel and gloom,
snow and quarry.
Melody collides with night’s unending tomb,
the break of dawn, and brilliant morning.
Still in her arms, my gaze casts toward her
in search of bliss,
heart ablaze,
and just before
a doubt
that I might not dismiss…
A kiss.
