written for her

I apply this dream to the mid-stream fantasies
that come during my battles with insomnia.
The moonlight filters through the eastside, upstairs window,
lighting the bedroom to the color a soft form of electric blue.

I lay awake, wondering about you
wondering what you may be thinking,
or dreaming about.

I watch you, curled between sheets and blankets,
illuminated by the glow of a late night moon,
and then I close my eyes.
(This is where the dream begins)

I imagine the way a droplet from an ice cube
dangled above your chest would fall down on your skin
and roll along the curves of your body.

I assume the sudden chill would cause you to flinch
and that the blindfold you wore
would spin your anticipation.

I wonder if you could lie still,
without moving,
and remain disciplined.

I wonder, could you submit yourself?
Could you give in and be taken?
And if so…
How long could you endure?

The different positions we face could mean nothing
or it could mean everything,
as if the way we make love is more important than anything else,
say like, even life or death.

And I understand this,
even if you don’t.

The way we combine ourselves,
or the way our skin feels while connected to each other
is not only magnetic,
but it is intended.

The way our bodies fit together, and the way we coincide,
the way we connect, and complement each other
is not without reason.

My edges; however jagged they may be,
fit perfectly in your world,
and I feel as if I could fit nowhere else,

…but with you.




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