By Gala
Date: 25 April 2001
Senses
Your voice is honey molasses,
the stroke of chamois to my ears
as you come behind me,
catch me unawares
and lay one gentle touch
hand to hip that speaks
every language.
I turn and breath in the scent
of you and soap,
your hair is nearly dry
and soft as duck down
beneath my fingers,
and I gently drag my fingernails
through it just to feel the feather
against my fingertips.
Your eyes are touching me again,
tasting my mouth
before your lips ever do,
lapping at my skin,
caressing my neck
and searching for that hollow
where one tiny vein
beats hard waiting for your tongue
to ease it.
Your hands loose my hair,
tumble and smooth the silk of it,
and your sigh as you wrap your fingers in it
make me lean back into your arms
and mold against you,
pull your hands around my waist
and just breathe a moment
in synch with you.
There will be lovemaking,
but for the moment
this quiet loving is everything
i could wish,
and when you turn me slowly
i pause before I meet your eye
because i know what waits me,
can see us dancing close
feel us sinking slow
and I want to stretch this minute
of knowing, yearning, glowing
till my senses are gone
to a pale amber glow
that is white fire
and every color I can name
in the sweetness of your touch,
in the moment of soul sundering,
and spiritual melding.
Color me my love.
COlor me.
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