I laid dreaming wide
and awake
about the white kitchen table
in the farm house on Grove
with the screen door
that you slammed
every day.

About your strong hands
on the small of my back.
I mean, my shoulders.
I mean, my waist.
As I focus on the grit in your voice.

You’re mine, you whisper
holding my gaze.
The back of my neck.
Holding the table
as you cup my face
and slide
into my smile.

I stroke the chisel of your jaw.
Lead your blue eyes
to mine
and we look down
in wonder
at the way we merge
into soul and hollow.

I’m not going to stop, you tell me.
Not ever, I say.

 

 

©Elle Wonders 2017

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