Blistered Lips

when i look at you
mostly, i know you love me
and mostly, that’s enough.

but i can’t see you now
and i’m not so sure anymore

alone
am i forgotten
do i
(sometimes)
walk
in your dreams
does your cheek
(perhaps)
imagine
my soft breasts
do the
cobwebs of me
(remember)
cling
to your heart
can you
smell
(surrender)
me on your pillow
does my
taste
(here)
sleep
upon your lips
does my
smile
(there)
wet
your distant eyes
can i
do you
were we
(then)

You must never tell her, my beloved Katerina.

I caress your cheek, looking into your emerald eyes. You nod, your hair moving across the pillow like a liquid, golden halo. My beloved Katerina, if you only knew the depth of my passions, how every breath I breathe is a sacred prayer to you.

I move the sheet below your small breasts to see them one more time. The nipples are going soft now, their color fading from the flaming coral of a few moments ago. Although the seed of my loins is still hot inside your belly, my softened member quivers a bit. You are perfection. How can this hot coal of my desire ever grow cold?

I must take my leave, although my wish is that we were never parted. The dew upon your lashes tells me that you know our time, once again, grows short. In the distance we hear the cock crow, breaking the silence that has kept our secret. I must go now.

Never tell. And I will always love you. Here in the night.

I ask myself the same question. No doubt, others wonder, too.

While you’re tall, it’s in a gangly, almost akward way.

You’re quiet–except when we’re alone. I think it’s because you know I am safe for you. At least that’s what I want to believe.

You do read. And I like that. You even read the books I give to you. I like that even more.You bring me coffee in the morning and think I’m cute, even desirable, with bedroom hair.

You like to surprise me with silly, inexpensive presents. Like the frog that measures rainfall. And the set of butterfly magnets. Of course, there’s the love notes and cards I find here and there.

You’re not afraid to cry with me, although sometimes I find it more contrived than honest. I guess you could be more introspective. But perhaps you’re working on that?

Sometimes we are passionate about the same movies. Other times not. Either way, they give us plenty to talk about.

You teach me things. And don’t think it unmanly to learn from me.

And you don’t try to get me to eat lobster or lamb.

I think that, as far as couples go, we are doing okay.

Don’t you?