It is Saturday evening
And I
Sit and smile... a soft sweet smile

Listen to the sounds
Of a now silent house
The purr of the cat
Grumble of the furnace
High thin howl of the wind
If this were a poem
I would have to add
I can smell the scent of you,
Feel your hands yet in my hair.
Your laughter washes over me
Riding a wave of passion.
Satisfied ache of my thighs,
Silent testament to tumbled sheets,
And smiling bruised lips.
Palms of my hands and fingertips
Trace outlines in the air
The shape of your back.
Breasts rose tipped
From your kisses
Standing at attention
Bare witnesses
To this
Reverie

12/8/2002

06/01/2003

Posted on 06/02/2003
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