When I woke this morning,
I had no clue,
that I would fall,
in love with you.
I never thought it to be true.
this love at first sight...
until I met you.
Suddenly,
my hearts all a twitter,
my livers a quiver,
and my oils at a feverish boil!
I can't wipe the smile from my face!
It's your kisses I hunger to taste.
And my feet,
have not touched the ground,
since you came around!
Together we give in
to a forgiving sin.
No desire to fight,
this love at first sight.
How easy our bodies entwined,
your skin next to mine,
sends waves of pleasure,
up and down my spine.
while your touch,
explores,
all that I am,
It ignites every inch,
of my thirsty skin.
Your lips dance along,
the curve of my neck,
as your hot passionate breath
becomes my love song...
I am exactly where I belong,
Its not right but its real,
these feelings we feel!
As we cling to each other,
under the covers.
Through out the night,
two believers,
in love at first sight!
About the Creator
Pamela Walsh-Holte
Retired social worker seaking to find my name among the "Chreators we are Loving", but alas it has not been so. Be still my heart, do not despair, your day may come...Until then I wait, anticipating some, be it ever so slight, recognition.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar4 days ago in Feast
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