Unclad.
I am bare before you.
Preach your love, make me red.
Tell me life is pure, I’ll believe; it’s your voice.
Call me by a name, I whisper in prayer.
Hold me and lead me, and claim me, my player.
I slept the other night and dreamt.
Call it love, call it beauty, call it song from a wish.
I walked your path, and watched your face — this is why I smile;
Would you?
Taste me like I saw in sleep so long;
Take my heart in embrace and speak words to reality.
Hold me naked — I’ll hold you too;
Soothe me softly; that slow tongue I worship.
Snuggle me with warmth.
Tell me that story, the one I forget in my sleep:
Tell me that I am yours alone.
Tell me of forever.
I would believe your voice, even if you lie.
Because...
About the Creator
Martins Abuah
I want to serenade you.
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More stories from Martins Abuah and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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