Soft, sensual, certain,
the decadence of dusk flows freely into throat,
into the small of my back,
as emotion comes alive with possibilities afire—
he and only he is image,
muse of darker than mauve longing.
Is it unpredictability or comfort of knowing?
Language of touch
or aftermath of losing myself in thought that lures?
A passing glance,
a sugar rush, part of me will always wonder if I have
the same effect on him;
as petals of white kiss the late summer wind,
I was half asleep all this time.
I am autumn stretched out with eyes closed;
know that first
and foremost I am used to giving by enlivening
as the season deepens with graceful boughs—
I am night from which the ocean borrows salt,
their tartness sweet,
and yet, the voice I hear from within resembles his,
similar to when water touches the sand.
Allow me to place a whisper tender in perfect
I make no apology for embracing emotion,
I arrive as chariot of nature’s flame;
I cannot help admiring everything he represents,
sometimes he needs me to define
what it is: every rule, every facet,
every element, every shade,
pronounce them, ‘the taste of berried enticement,’
until the mind is full.
Photo credits: Fabian Perez Painting, Pinterest
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Posted for Poetics: Always in Season @dVerse Poets Pub