Untitled

I like the feel of you

Beneath my finger tips

The silent motion of my lips

As they speak you into being

I enjoy seeing. . . . you

Every crevice, every bend

And I pretend

That no one else has held you

The way I will

As your pages spill

Your secretes, truths and lies

And I

Will brand you boldly

Mark you as my own

When we are together

Time . . . stands still


© Ix-Chel Poot