I am wishing for a small thing
to give me pleasure.
Just something little.
A gesture of sweetness,
like my lover’s fingers rubbing the soft skin of my forearm
as he held me;
a touch of comfort
in the rain.
My heart grows drunk
on small sips.
I am a lightweight,
easily intoxicated
by smiles,
or better yet kisses.
But you are dangerous.
A shot of tequila,
aged well and strong.
Your words of love
go down smooth
like liquid fire.
I could easily
drink a case
and end up wasted.
Lovely.
thanks my dear
Intriguing metaphor that sets one pondering
Or is that wishful thinking.
Delightful muse and minx you are true treasure of verse
Sheer eloquence you are.
thanks darling
Reblogged this on eroticapoetica and commented:
Trying not to fall off the wagon