Night Dances 

Night slips over the day like a billowing sheet settles upon a crisp mattress. Little drops of the heavens sprinkle my tired face, and I breathe in the now wet earth.  You lace your hand in mine and lead me away from the perfume of the rain to a room aglow with tiny flickers. A faint smile finds its way to my lips as you offer me a glass of sweet white wine because you remembered it was my favorite. You’re looking at me expectantly, maybe because I am honestly taken aback by this overt display of care and affection.

This is not what you wanted; you knew it’s what I needed.

With that sweet, spring breeze drifting across my naked back, the buzz of sugary wine on my lips, and the quiet electricity of your fingers across my skin; my lips seek yours like an unquenchable thirst and my hands daintily search you body for the desires awakened in my own. It has been so long since anyone has held me that way–I want these moments to drag into eternity.

Three more months of a a halfway not-quite-in-love tangle of sheets.

I told you I couldn’t stay. Then you touch me with such subtle, tender hands, I have no memory of those words that left my mouth so resolute just mere moments before. This night and the way our bodies are moving together as one are a part of those things I hope to remember as I rock slowly back and forth on a front porch swing with the night drifting ever so gently over the warmth of the day.


Day Dreaming

I woke up early this morning and watched you sleep with hazy, happy eyes. The steady rhythm of your breathing is keeping time as the birds greet the morning sun peeking her face through a frosty window.

–I could get used to this–

Your face is so soft in this moment, empty of worry or questions or expectation, you just lay there as free thoughts stumble through your mind. I can’t help but wonder if I am there too in ways similar to how you’ve infected my dreams. I sweep the hair from your forehead and kiss so tender it doesn’t wake you from those dreams.

I ache for your gentle hands to caress my cheeks the way they did the night my tears spilled over. Look at me the way you did with that longing for connection that goes deeper than how your body moves so well with mine.

You wake up with a sweet, small smile, and I whisper faintly, “Good morning,” when my heart is screaming to say so very much more. No, not having feelings was never going to work with a boy like you, were they, because here I am longing to be everything you could ever dream while you do, but I’ll just lay here and smile because this moment is magic. 

Dreaming of The South

I never knew it was possible to miss a place as much as I do tonight. The drawl of two ladies chatting away in the corner of this coffee shop tugs at my heart in a way I can’t even put into words, and before I know it tears are tumbling down eyes remembering an ocean scene on a stormy, summer day. I find myself crestfallen when my attempts of conversation at the checkout counter are met with uninterested, empty answers and the clicking of a lady’s heel behind me in impatience. Listing the things that make that place a home would be hollow, I’m afraid. So I’ll sit here sipping a latte as the snow falls outside the window and people rush about with their eyes on the ground–picturing that sweet, lazy summer breeze drifting across my bare legs as the sucrose and rich tea flood my mouth. 

Twinkle, Little Star

Preach to me not of the stars,
for they are the ones that dried my tears
after every boy before you,
and whispered sensational dreams
into a heart left empty.

They saw all the love in my eyes
just waiting to be given
and accepted it with a soft embrace.

Yes, boy–they are romantic.

They call down,
“Only I have loved you”
as we take this frigid walk under their light.

Preach to me not of the stars,
for they were there
when this little girl’s fragile heart was born
and they will be here
long after you stop holding this hand.