I was exquisite petals.
Pink, dewy, delicate.
Your fingers opened me,
coaxed me into full bloom,
until I reddened with color,
dripped with honeyed nectar,
decorous with feminine plushness;
a gleaming pistil,
a pulsing filament.
I was this radiant bouquet,
rosy blossoms
in your artful hands.
I was a pretty ache,
geranium-scented,
my breasts budding,
legs spread,
hips splayed,
wet and open,
resplendent.
I was garlanded
with your kisses.
Adorned, adored;
I flowered.
When you returned,
the day felt bright
like new paint
and our forms freshly drawn
by the nimble hands
of God.
Our kisses were sweet
as spring strawberries,
dripping with juice.
We were lovers
once again,
refining and polishing
our art
like careful masters
on the canvas of tragic need
that is the body.
I was a mermaid
drowning
in the sea
of you,
in delicious oblivion.
You tasted
salty like my tears.
In your arms,
agony and ecstasy
seem to become
one and the same.
This week in celebration of Valentine’s Day I am sharing some of my poems offering different perspectives on love. This one speaks to the deep impression love makes on us.
Your lips are lines of a poem
indelibly written upon these breasts,
upon these hips,
like a tattoo or a scar,
an invisible mark I bear
upon my skin.
And when I decorate
the walls of my mind with stars,
those verses illuminate
like phosphorescence
in the glow of black light
and the lingering language
of your kiss
speaks to me again,
a satisfyingly long
and heartfelt ballad
that rhymes in all the right places
and transports this aching body
beyond words,
into the ecstatic agony
of memory.
In anticipation of Valentine’s Day, I will be sharing some of my poems that offer different perspectives on love. This one shows the lighter side of love, it’s ability to transform us with its glow into into something brighter and more vibrant. Tomorrow’s post: the dark side of love.
Before I die, will I think
of making love
to you?
When I have swam
through the eternal sea
of life’s consciousness,
and endless memories are bubbling up
from murky depths,
will I run the fingers of my mind
over the faded photograph
of your eyes?
Will the scent of your skin
fill the intangible air
of my thoughts?
My love, I want to let you go.
But I may wish
to feel your lips on mine
one more time.
why did my heart bloom
when you kissed me and tasted
like water and sun
You were sitting across from me
in a booth at the Pho place,
your noodles eaten,
your bowl almost empty,
and you leaned back,
tired, sank into the vinyl seat,
and a particular look
came over your eyes.
Your sleepy gaze cast a spell on me.
You whispered to me then
without words,
in the language of your body,
which I understand
all too well.
Your head told me
to run my fingers
through your short spiky hair.
Your smooth cheeks told me
to paint them
with hungry little kisses.
Your lap told me to
climb in.
Your mouth told me
to fill it with my pretty pink nipple.
Your hands told me to abandon myself
to your touch,
to give up everything,
spread myself wide
and receive sensation.
I am a good girl, you know.
When you speak to me like this,
I can’t help
but listen.
