Aching
I ache for the touch of a woman.
The brush of a hard nipple - a soft breast.
The touch of fingers slowly inching up the inside of a thigh.
I ache for liquid surrender last felt too long ago.
How long?
Years.
What is a kiss like? Can't remember.
Something about losing oneself, soft lip, wet tongue,
Hand behind the head - pressing.
Something missing,
Something wrong.
Breath - that's it. Forgot to breathe.
That's a kiss.
Sleeping spoons.
Hand encircles breast.
All is soft, worn, wrung passion limp.
I ache for this.
The brush of a hard nipple - a soft breast.
The touch of fingers slowly inching up the inside of a thigh.
I ache for liquid surrender last felt too long ago.
How long?
Years.
What is a kiss like? Can't remember.
Something about losing oneself, soft lip, wet tongue,
Hand behind the head - pressing.
Something missing,
Something wrong.
Breath - that's it. Forgot to breathe.
That's a kiss.
Sleeping spoons.
Hand encircles breast.
All is soft, worn, wrung passion limp.
I ache for this.
Copyright ©2003-2007 Phaedrous
posted by Phaedrous at 6:46 PM
6 Comments:
A poem. A yearning. I wish I could wish it your way.
i'm awestruck. yes, i wish i could wish it your way too.
I can't offer any wonderful advice, but I can offer you a virtual hug.
((Phaedrous))
This must be horrible to live through but you've written about it beautifully.
Your blog is inspirational, and this poem, wow, and I'm sure there are many others who feel how you feel...
I don't think it's been quite as long for me, but I remember how you can lose yourself with such abandon. I miss it, too.
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