Eleven lines of steam and then you wake up, basically. Mourning a dream lover is a very real way to start a morning.
Obscene Sonnet
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Eleven lines of steam and then you wake up, basically. Mourning a dream lover is a very real way to start a morning.
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I'm waiting for you, naked, in the half-light,
face down, arms wrapped around the pillow,
while my mind catches glimpses of you
through the warm steam of the bathroom.
You step out with a towel around you,
hair dripping onto the floor,
my pupils wide, you blurring in my sight,
breathless, sweating, hard with wanting you.
Your hair between my fingers,
my body over yours,
a glass of wine on the nightstand.
I woke up swept away by the story,
now damp from everything that unfolded,
and I spent the whole night in mourning.
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I'm waiting for you, naked, in the half-light, face down, arms wrapped around the pillow, while my mind catches glimpses of you through the warm steam of the bathroom.