Something Of The Past

Our words

Have sprawled so far

From the margin

Where we had weakened our speech

To fold into each other

To write a beginning,

That they have lost all sweetness

Of that time,

And the book

Now swallows us as something of the past.

No longer do we bend our words

Into a form,

But we let them immigrate

And leave behind a kissing memory

Of what we once corresponded

As love.

We are not a poem,

Ah, but a broken metaphor--

With a silent simile undoing

Every facade washed

In handsome meaning.

The truth can

Come again,

From our silence:

The growing distance between

Our unmoved voices,

That once sang

For the exploration of

This hollow page,

Beautiful before I got here

To write

What I knew nothing of.

I Think Of You

Every time I see you, I wonder why I can’t just be straight and not suffer like this. I wonder why I can't just blurt out all the things I want to do to you, ill controlled restraint binds my words temporarily, like lava bubbling quietly within the confines of a raging volcano until it's time to break violently beyond the surface, but my thoughts run rampant, unchecked.

I want to stand behind you and breathe you in as my hands roam delicately across the gentle rise of your stomach upward to cup your beautiful breasts, my touch firm enough to define my desire yet tender enough to clearly express my romantic fixation upon you. I want to feel you arch your back and press yourself into me as my hips strain forward with the sole intention of feeling you. I need to feel you. Every part of you.

I want to run my hands over your breasts and kiss each of your nipples, I want to know precisely how hard I must nibble to make you slide your fingers through my hair and tug me closer, or gently pull me back, a hint to lighten up . I want to know what your lipstick tastes like. I wonder what your hair smells like after you shower and how it would feel to run my fingers along your hot, wet pussy and just how and where to touch you to make you whimper. I want to know everything about you. Inside and out.

I want to see how beautiful you are when you're lost in a moment of passion. I want to suck your clit into my mouth and make you moan. I want to make you come so hard that you will never be able to think of pleasure without thinking of me, the way I think of you. I want to devour you.

But for now, I'll keep that to myself.