| Inevitable |
Twilight drops it’s shade,
I slowly watch the light
Behind my blinds turn gray.
You once asked me
About time, did it ever stand still?
I remember telling you, ‘no.’
The curl of your hair falls
Between my fingertips,
My hand bends to touch your smile,
Then return again.
I am wrapped up inside your eyes,
There is a place uncharted
Swimming beneath my veins,
And the only word I can find is ‘different.’
Slowly, silently, I fall forward
Into the fold of your lips,
My hand caresses the nape of your neck,
And I think to myself, ‘don’t forget, never forget.’
Your fingers trace a path across my back
And I float farther away than where’d I’d been,
Chills rise to the forefront of my skin,
I recoil from your kiss, then we begin again.
I am suspended in a warm place,
Not momentarily, no, it’s so much more.
We are lost in that place that sits between us.
There’s a contentment in my disregard,
There’s a certain air of ‘inevitable.’
I pull you closer, and my lips
Press into the curve of your cheek.
I smile to myself, a brazen sort of muse.
You once asked me about time,
I wonder to myself, where it went.
Appearing in Deeper Than Pink, Copyright © of Stacy Lynn Mar 2009
<BACK NEXT>
I slowly watch the light
Behind my blinds turn gray.
You once asked me
About time, did it ever stand still?
I remember telling you, ‘no.’
The curl of your hair falls
Between my fingertips,
My hand bends to touch your smile,
Then return again.
I am wrapped up inside your eyes,
There is a place uncharted
Swimming beneath my veins,
And the only word I can find is ‘different.’
Slowly, silently, I fall forward
Into the fold of your lips,
My hand caresses the nape of your neck,
And I think to myself, ‘don’t forget, never forget.’
Your fingers trace a path across my back
And I float farther away than where’d I’d been,
Chills rise to the forefront of my skin,
I recoil from your kiss, then we begin again.
I am suspended in a warm place,
Not momentarily, no, it’s so much more.
We are lost in that place that sits between us.
There’s a contentment in my disregard,
There’s a certain air of ‘inevitable.’
I pull you closer, and my lips
Press into the curve of your cheek.
I smile to myself, a brazen sort of muse.
You once asked me about time,
I wonder to myself, where it went.
Appearing in Deeper Than Pink, Copyright © of Stacy Lynn Mar 2009
<BACK NEXT>
| ~A woman who writes feels too much, those trances and portents! As if cycles and children and islands weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips and vegetables were never enough. She thinks she can warn the stars. A writer is essentially a spy. Dear love, I am that girl.~ Anne Sexton |
| Stacy Lynn Mar |