Poetry · Writing

Sunday

My every fantasy, made real, by your fingertips.

Warmth radiating from my core.

The flames are too hot,

But the pain of it is too cold.

Is this desire?

I can see the diamonds begin to glitter, in the dusky rose sky, through my window.

The day is turning to night right before my eyes.

I look back at it and the image of you kneeling, looking up at me, with those eyes,

Is seared into my brain.

Is this lust?

Your dark voice trails down my flesh,

Like whispers through the evening trees.

Goosebumps erupt along my skin, and

Butterflies fly in frenzied chaos in my belly, when you breathe me in.

Is this love?

Wild and ferocious,

Your soft touches roam all over uncharted planes.

I lift up your chin, to kiss your practiced mouth.

Your tongue tastes like sweet peaches in the summer heat, warm and delicious.

And I am touch starved and hungry.

Is this ecstasy?

Close my eyes, you say.

Trust you, you plead.

Orchestrating my body,

Like a symphony.

You usher in a crescendo,

setting the tempo with your hands,

and with your deft movements,

you lead me to the finale.

Are you mine?

The planets have shifted,

the timelines have blurred,

and I am past in your present.

But the morning sun is coming up over the horizon,

And the sounds of the waking city bring me back down to Earth.

As I look over my shoulder,

I see that you are still here.

Sleeping.

Exhausted and Sated.

And I wonder what the day will bring.

I have so many questions.

But we have plenty of time.

It’s only Sunday.

5 thoughts on “Sunday

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