Driving Home - Poem by Sarah Eve
On this whim
As the sky feels heavy burgeoning upon us
As a faded black sea rolls beneath
Every intention and premonition.
I think, I think, I think about you too much.
When you left my passenger side
upon your tea and me stained lips
I flew away with your music blaring and the taste of your rosy, wet tongue
imprinted on my sun
you are not the only one
with these hungry skyward mirrors
I saw your eyes as stairs
With which to climb the night
And threw the rest of the world away
Into the constellations
Trapped so they could not judge
In our bloom
Yesterday I grew a pair of wings
And hid them beneath the strap of my tattered dress
And the flow of my hair.
But you stripped me of those seams
And noticed what most wouldn’t dare
or care to peel away.
I melted myself into your dew
Our soft pink pillows massaging each other
Drenched in honey
The sweet and salty taste of your skin
Resides and then remains a vibrant memory
long after traces of your fingertips have been washed away.
Like a fuzzy base-neck tingle
Your smell is of natural lust and sensual musky man
As you pulse and beat
I feel it shiver
Gripping the slipping of time, I wonder
Perhaps the shorter the song, the sweeter the melody.
I might be careless with the sunlight as is brushes rhythms through your hair
Those frivolous follicles
Feel soft and open as you are
And I feel open to you.
Yes, you can whisper those sweet familiar lines into my ears
If you promise their sanctity is not wasted on the curves of my skin.
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