Sunday, February 21, 2010

passing the marble

A poem I wrote a bit ago, just finally recording it here. "Holding the marble" refers to a story from The Story Girl about the origins of kissing. In this case, I'm thinking of the sensation of holding in words, but passing the sense of them in the kiss.

The last lingering kiss goodbye,
My palms ache to store the feel of
Muscled back,
Hair on chest,
Smooth curve of buttock.

Your hair is an amber wave
Of sunshine and I turn my face to its warmth.

Our lips touch again, softly once,
Then more insistent, bodies
Obeying their own siren calls
We meld into an
Arc of last longing.

The moments we spend between desire
Staring into each others' eyes are the hardest.
This marble belongs to you, love,
Come let me pass it to you.
We should not speak, lest it
Drop and shatter

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