A memory of you,
makes me in love at the thought of you.
Your touch makes my life complete.
Your eyes say it all,
when ours meet halfway,
when our fingers find their way
where to sway
at the place it needs to stay.
Slightly we brush each other's hair as our mouths
open and make it say all words we can,
say what words can make of
what love ought not to do
only love could make ourselves
belong.
Upon your arm, I rest my eyes,
Onto your body is all I need,
with that warm heart makes me love,
and with your lips I am at peace.
About the Creator
First Starlight of Summer
Your whole being is constituted by yearning. You miss the stars but have never seen a fully-realized night sky sparkle to life before your eyes. You write things, funny but short but profound, emulating the archaic cosmos that turns by its own unknowable calculus emulating love in all its celestial glory turning in that same cryptic way, but fully know neither and hardly know both, and it feels disingenuous, so you write about writers. It feels vaguely masturbatory, but it’s funny but short but profound and it impresses the people around you enough, so you run with it forever until you can’t anymore.
By Steven Christopher McKnight4 days ago in Fiction
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