Tangled

A poem about falling in lust.

The thoughts that led me here, so raw, unrefined,

To this moment where I think of you, and how you bind

me so loose. We take this to be undefined,

but each defining moment, I analyse and categorise,

A simple longing for the warmth of your body near mine.

Curve tracing curve, spine tracing spine, 

Your fingertips reaching over, encasing mine. 

Now we're lost between the sheets of passing time 

where laughter and passion pours free as wine,

We drink, sweet taste as we learn to find

each other, in our own beat and rhythm and rhyme.

Oh, the steps that we take to feel alive, 

Mapping undiscovered hills and valleys divine,

I feel so close to you in this space, this time, 

But do I run through yours as you run through mine?

A pause, a stumble. I try to know your mind

and I can't. I don't know if you think in circles or lines, 

Nor your story, your song, your colours, your signs,

And certainly you know none of mine.

This is all just a pretence, and it's for this I pine. 

My shallow breath lingers and holds, I realise 

that our eyes don't burst into golden shine, 

We don't come together when we collide

it's true, our stars and planets will never align, 

And your voice will never stop my time. 

So now I vow to redesign. 

Towards you, I am less inclined

as minute cracks grow up, up into fault lines.

And I know you see that we won't combine,

When your hand grows less eager and swift to catch mine,

We both feel it, knowing, proven, all this time,

The facts, though sad, are simple and benign:

We remain separate though our bodies entwine.  

The End

13 comments about this poem Feed