La Petite Mort
Teeming with anticipation
Wrapped willing wet lips;
Nervous hearts skip beats
Impulsive and feverish.
Here I sit in a darkened theater
Watching the best the world has to offer
I see you
Like a butterfly,
Trapped in the warm winds
Of a summer afternoon,
Fluttering back to the same flower
The enigma of the rhythm.
The rise and fall of the breast.
This is where the heart lives.
On long drives, you are with me,
Feeling your curves with my fingers
I follow the broken white lines of the road
Past the horizon
Tense and relaxed
Intoxicating temptation;
A touch of velvet
Gliding in and out.
Fin













