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in a single breath,
bodies collide,
all hands and fingers,
grasping and digging,
until all-the-weight is pinning her down,
anticipation buzzing between them

tangling around wild curls,
gripping fists pull her closer,
and closer still,
until her every gasp
becomes his next breath

begging to be traveled,
slick bodies are grand landscapes,
delicious peaks and valleys
for savoring,
hands and teeth and muscle
the cartographers,
charting maps through hearts
and over needy flesh,
as they merge

he moved in her,
with her,
for her

and she knew exactly why –
now they will always
find their way home

-art by Leonid Afremov, Kiss of Passion

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Flaw

she was in awe;
she felt as if they’d pressed themselves together until his bones passed through hers,
that they’d melded into the same person,
ever so briefly

and that’s what she believed true love to be,
what she always thought it should be –
this oneness that so completely consumed two people,
it would carry them on forever

but the hardest lesson she would ever learn
is that this was a flaw in her thinking,
in her expectation of love,
of another human being

for, no matter what she tried,
she could not reach into every part of him,
nor did he want her to;
no matter what she offered,
he could not reach into every part of her,
nor did she want him to

and all this time,
she thought that’s exactly what love was supposed to allow

she needed him,
she needed him, desperately –
he was the one place on this earth she felt safe and supported,
home

but she wanted, no needed,
to be able to disappear into herself
at times,
to find out where she stood and what she needed,
to figure out how to also be her own safe place
and her own support,
but she always needed to return safely home

-image via Pixabay

Ask the Dusk

slowly, sun begins to set,
twilight’s colors igniting the sky

light warily fading beneath horizon,
not quite ready for goodbye

patiently, I wait, for stars to shine,
illuminating hungry eyes

as dark descends in silky silence,
waking mortal souls once shy

where, lying bare, to moon and you,
I ask dusk to help me fly

-image via Pinterest

Marry Me

speak to me in dragon’s tongue,
in silk fingertip,
and breathless grip,
claim me, show me I’m the one

listen to me with thirsty ears,
with eager de Sade,
and lightning rod,
pushing boundaries, facing fears

speak to me in action alone,
narrowing all distance,
diminishing resistance,
the only sound our primal moans

listen to me shout your name,
in arches and cries,
and quivering thighs,
an eternal, fiery flame

marry me in spirit and soul,
intersecting hearts,
one sum of all parts,
enhancing strengths to make us whole

-image via Tumblr, originalsourceunknown

Can’t Believe

I can’t believe the way
she stiffened in his arms
gripped with yesterday’s regret
unable to let go

I can’t believe the way
she noticed small mistakes
wanting him to read her mind
unwilling to communicate

I can’t believe the way
she built those walls so tall
need for him tucked away
a weakness to let it show

I can’t believe the way
she yearned for his soft touch
lying silently on her pillow
afraid to let him know

I can’t believe the way
she knew for all those years
the woman in the mirror
could be happy if she chose

I can’t believe the way
that feels so long ago

Write Me

write me in lead,
verse in unending lines,
in loops and curves,
without any rhyme

write me in sonnet,
without any words,
in fingertips, buoyant,
like the wings of birds

write me in symphony,
with only your eyes;
be the conductor,
between willing thighs

write me in love song,
with fists gripping tresses,
in fevered gasps and moans,
and sheets left in messes

write me in lead, Dear,
a powerful refrain,
then, erase me, My Love,
and do it again

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown

Tidal

behind her clenched eyelids,
with arched back and tilted head,
in labored gasps and moans,
she’s immersed, being lead,
the blackness no longer black,
and the sheets no longer thread

she is transformed into fluid,
a rippling depth of dark and light,
please stop and please more,
seemingly at odds, but not quite,
he the maestro of the current,
in their duality, they ignite

skillfully she’s driven,
to her edge and back again,
as the moon pulls the tide,
and the tide pulls the sand,
where want turns to need,
and need begs with fisted hands

until his words open the dam,
and breaking waves over her flood,
in the surge of their tide,
and swell of their love,
his control and her surrender;
equilibrium, they’re whole

-image via Pinterest

Live

for years,
your body desperately searched for me,
flesh and muscle foraging with hope,
your essence offered, liquid gold,
and I drank you in like nectar,
my sun-bleached bones seeking sustenance

I’d been so very parched,
and your touch was a welcomed storm,
but, at some point,
I realized it wasn’t enough

my thirst could not be quenched –
you offered yourself with touch,
but you could not find me inside my body

that’s not where I live

-image via Tumblr

Reverence

something had shifted,
they could both feel it;
it hung in the air,
an energy circulating the room that neither could ignore

it was as if they’d been in the dark,
just out of reach of one another for far too long,
the reverberation between them reminding them why they were here,
why they’d always been
right here

impassioned, something deep inside him stretched out and curled around her like a shawl,
his finger reaching up to move the curls from her face so he could see directly into her eyes,
and he kissed her,
all of her,
even the parts they’d both been afraid of,
and he didn’t let go

and she let him,
her fingers careful and deliberate as she undid the buttons of his shirt,
her body following whatever her heart desired,
wherever this energy took them,
allowing him to see her,
needing to see him too

they touched each other gently, at first,
as if it was the first time they’d been together,
and that was true, really –
they touched with no expectation,
with no pretense,
with all they had to offer,
and receiving with an openness that had taken all these years to find

they noticed everything,
every shiver and tingle and gasp,
each curve and freckle and goosebump

they noticed their bodies were older, now;
she gripped muscles that weren’t as strong as they used to be,
kissed the wrinkled lines reaching out from the corners of his eyes,
and he traced the silver scars from childbirth weaving a patchwork across her abdomen,
cupped breasts that had become much more malleable –
it was all a part of their story,
a story they wished to tell with the lights on

so they touched in fevered fingertips,
with an urgency that rose from a depth they’d not once known –
they no longer had to be careful of one
another –
they had a reverence for their fragility,
but knew they’d never break

-image via Tumblr

Cultivating

the stress and heartache,
one thing after another in a combination of knock-out punches,
had nearly broken them,
yet here they were

it was a familiar place,
this raw place of survival,
one they’d been to before in their years together –
it is inevitable if you spend enough time building a life together

it was a place of choice;
a place where you can choose to hide or choose to be,
a place of past, present, and future at once,
where, if you’re ready, you offer up pieces of yourself with abandon,
in both fear and freedom,
where you grasp for humility and strength,
where, when you do,
you break free to someplace other,
a place only achieved when you’ve dug and excavated,
when you’ve both buried that which is no longer useful and unearthed something new,
something more

yet, that newness has roots that have burrowed so deeply in fertile soil,
it’s destined to reach for the sun
and weather the most viscous storms

she knew love is a conscious choice,
that it is cultivated and it’s hard work –
she never expected white horses,
nor did she need them,
but she could never have predicted the depth of the heartache and what it required of her soul

what she did know was that she was grateful to be here with him,
heart aching,
soul-searching,
burying and unearthing,
laying roots;
cultivating

reaching for the sun

-image via Pinterest