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Their warm,
their soft,
their smooth,
their scent is hers.
My eyes are closed,
my nose is buried in the folds of her flesh,
my lips are pursed as if in a kiss, and
my ears hear her heart beat.
I’m laying in the valley between her breasts,
I’m comfortable,
I’m where I want to be,
I’m home.
No matter how many times
I find myself in this position
it feels as though
it’s the first time.
I open my eyes and see
the pinkish skin of her neck,
the roundness of her chin, and
the fullness of her lips.
I revel in her beauty,
a beauty that grows
with each passing year.
I’m awestruck that she’s mine.
I cover her lips and she responds with
the passion that first drew me in.
It was initially a passion of lust,
now it’s the delight of love,
and the promise of a long-term obsession.
It’s an infatuation that’s hard to understand,
or to explain,
or to grasp,
but not difficult to appreciate.
- COMMENTS
Desejoabout 11 years agoI loved the first stanza of this because of its unusual use of language. Because I was interested in what came next, it drew me in. But reading the rest of the poem makes me wonder if Their in the first stanza is misspelled in the first three lines (they're). Intentional or not? Hard to say. Overall - I liked the idea.
