Apogee
No longer ...
Are my eyes my own.
My ribs thrum with a drunken heart,
Your drug, molten and pure, coursing my veins.
I am the smooth cheek to your tears,
Warmed by the waiting ...
Let dash, your fury upon my reef,
Your concern and cares,
Ebbed with worry to the depths.
My lips brush tiny shivers on your skin,
(Anticipation doing what the autumn air can not),
As I whisper sexy words to the curves of you ...
Your henna-painted fingers like electric tendrils thru my hair,
Pulling me closer, tighter ... closer.
No longer are my eyes ...
My own.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "September 2018 Standard" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
|