All through the evening I chase you
from couch, to wall, to floor,
after three years aching
for the touch of your shoulder, cotton warm
against my bare arm. You laugh
at a joke I didn't say, and here
with my eyes
reeling you in
like red yarn.
There is a distance
I'm afraid to test, a stretching of
time and love I cannot bring
myself to breach.
I watch him braid her hair.
It's clumsy and sweet, and I feel
the touch tugging me, softly,
to the root.
Wine is too sweet against my tongue,
the music too loud, too sad, I'm drifting and
I anchor in the sound of my name,
held gently in your mouth.
An achingly tender poem which just seems to push all the right buttons. You have an innate ability to make not only me but others feel.. Both you and Melisa have the ability it would seem, to get under my skin and touch me where I'm most sensitive, most vulnerable.