By HMS
Date: 23 May 2000
State of grace
Dinner?
Sure.
Sounds like fun.
No big deal.
Instead,
my heart is hammering,
the blood blushes to my cheek
where randomly recurs
an idiot grin I can't wipe off;
not even the next day.
Or the next.
Under the heat of your hands,
my skin turned to silk.
Under the warmth of your words,
the ice-cold hurt in my heart
melted, ran in shining droplets
like the wine I
tasted from your lips.
I can't sit still. I drive
with sappy songs on the radio
swirling in my head.
How true! Precisely how I feel!
Amazing!
Wait. I'm THIRTY-FOUR.
I should be cynical and sure.
A natural woman?
Right.
But you made me feel
not just desire
but
desired.
As if this heady flow of joy
is not a luxury,
or even a gift,
but merely
my due.
One hunger
feeds us both
with gratitude and grace.
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