Monday, December 28, 2015

writer's block circa Christmas 2015

I can't write, because all my thoughts are of him.
I can't breathe, because each breath is him.
I can hardly stay awake,
when each waking moment is consumed with absolute desire.
And each memory an attempt to recall the taste of lips.
To remember the gentle pressure of his mouth on mine
the sweet touch of his lips on my hand,
the hand he held between his own.
And then lifted to grace with a tender brush,
Two soft lips meeting my white hand.
A promise of devotion--
fealty--his lips on my soft skin.

So I stare into his limpid eyes,
wine-dark with desire.
And I feel my entire body thrill and fail
I cannot move,
every inch of me is transfixed, transfigured.

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