You . . .

 

You . . .

You are a soft and gentle idea.
A feeling, perhaps.
You are a delicate shade of thunder
that rumbles with a sense of intensity
but moves in slowly to overwhelm the sky.

I am thinking of you as the sky weeps . . .
rain falls in large, drop-like tears.
The sound of wind rushes passed the homes
situated on a small quiet block.

It is daylight and still,
I am dreaming of a long slow day
that I wish would never end.

I am thinking of a couch along the wall
set below the front window of a modest home.
The long flowing drapes opened enough
for one to sit on the couch
and stare out into the empty suburban street.

You . . .

Wearing nothing—except for my shirt.
Your legs curl up as you sit nearly sideways
to look through the window.
Your eyes slightly close as you stare contently through the window.
I watch you.
Your eyelashes filter the twinkle in your eyes,
which sort of encapsulate a relaxing glow
that comes after we make love

I watch and try to imagine what you could be thinking.
Yet, I hope you are thinking absolutely nothing
other than how good it feels to be
together . . .

We are only moments after love begins.
We are minutes after our connection
and I can still feel the weakness in my legs.
We are years after all of our downfalls and wrong turns.
We are far away from our yesterdays
and at last,
we understand a little more
about this thing they call fate.

You . . .

There is nothing like you.
There is nothing like the feel of your lips against mine
or the smell of your hair as I pull you in closely.

You . . .

I can still smell on my body after you leave the room.

I am thinking about what it feels like to lay in bed.
The sheets wrap around our lower half,
which are now entwined.
I am thinking about the way you sound
when you whisper
And when your eyes roll back as I touch you –
I imagine the feeling I have when I arrive between your legs
and feel your body
as it wraps around mine.

You . . .

I imagine the way your body shakes and quivers
I think of how you react when I pass my kiss across your chest.
I think about the curve of your spine as you arch your back;
your legs stretch and stiffen as you arrive at the verge of sensation.

Each muscle clenches tightly before the moment of truth.
And in that second before all spouts into an explosion of flesh;
everything we have done and gone through in this life
has led us here, and up to this point

I wish I could hold on to that second for longer than it lasts.

I wish I could control it more.

You . . .

You are a soft, gentle idea.

A feeling, perhaps

You . . .

I love you ~

imagesbenfield

 

 

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