Tactical with your hands
the way you smooth my skin
beneath fingers so cool.
A promise held in your palm
where it blends away pain
into pressure and pleasure.
Your touch sifts away the world,
leaves me gasping in relief
that we are not alone.
Explicitly free,
in empty shadows she dances
underneath clouds,
across ocean swathes of green
tickled with flashing bulbs of brightness,
puffs of color growing
amid the endless blades.
She will not be kept
or locked inside,
always bursting forth
enchanted by the world
the sensation of movement,
the passion of feeling deeply,
the exhilaration of newness,
as it sweeps away her pain
leaving her breathing heavy.
I too,
once touched the underbelly of clouds,
skipping with my feet,
unabashedly giddy.
I ache again for those days
knowing,
nostalgia is a wonderful weapon.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 