By Mira
Date: 20 November 2000
If This Was But Heat
I wake to November clear blue
and your love beside me,
a rose on my pillow
that makes something contract sweetly
deep below my belly.
Last night is a honeyed dream
clinging to me
softly sticky
and you said after each moment
that it could get no better,
no more blissful,
not a splinter more tender
and I agreed.
And then you touched me again
hands spanning my waist
holding close to my hips
tender warm complete
and no,
I could never be hungry again
my inner eyes splashed
with jeweltones
and oh my love,
how could I need you again
so quickly?
But you speak my name
and I hear that velvet catch,
a rasping hunger
you are loathe to admit
after perfect pleasure
and I am off and gone again
left no choice
but to tumble back into the sheets
and call the challenge
that you are too much the gentleman to voice.
Come to me love...
if this was but heat,
we would have burned down
ages ago,
and we would be gently warming
to spent embers
not doing experiments
with new energy
on November clear blue mornings.
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