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It's Love, Not Lust
A knocking sound beckons me,
Waking me from soft dreams of hair and lips
And standing, I open it to see dreams come to life.
Not even a hello, just a smile,
before those lips press gently to mine,
whispering the forgotten greeting into me.
Soon all gentleness is forgotten,
lost amidst wandering hands and wet tongues
Fingertips still damp from the rain.
Umbrellas take away the sensation
of gentle fingertips gliding wetly over bare skin,
An experience impossible to forget;
Smiling, I pull away, gesturing to closed doors,
Wanting to be rid of all modesty as swiftly
as my small form can manage.
A nod of assent and we're gone,
wooden doors and steel locks creating an
impenetrable barrier between us and the world.
We don't need the world, we'll make our own,
Some classic rock on the radio and you, with me,
rolled up in the plaid sheets I bought for us.
Rainbow colors make a startling contrast against us,
writhing and struggling to slip from the forms that bind,
keeping us from becoming one.
And when it's over, rest, the blissful exhaustion almost
- not quite, but almost -
better than the experience itself.
And then the best part, the one thing I couldn't live without:
Smiling, you look down at me, whispering, "I love you."
My world is complete.
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