| What I Really Meant To Say |
I said I wasn't in love with you...
Although the night's eye will find me curled
beneath the soft caresses of my down comfort, lost in a dream
of you and I, mad with passion, ravenously in love. Yet I lie alone,
crazy with desire for a man whose heart I cannot contain.
The days deem me forever preoccupied with wonderment: How do
your lips taste? How would my body feel, to know your arms' embrace?
Would forever with you treat me kindly? If a love affair means
I love you and you use me, for tonight that'll be okay.
I meet you between daylight and darkness, your lips find me first.
We lay in sync, my body blanketed beneath your bare skin.
The glowing paleness of who you are, your hungry eyes feasting upon
my naked flesh, the smell of your Old Spice...it's almost nostalgic now.
Passion is my righteous woe this night, for you leave hurriedly,
already late for that important premiere performance. I won't attend
the debut tonight, nor sit giddy in my plush red chair, cheering you on.
I'll be lying here tangled in nakedness and the sheets we made love on.
Damn the moon, that mad cyclops and his dreary midnight. Those conniving,
twinkling stars which warily predict the predomination of one's life. They
leave my arms empty tonight and my dreams unfinished. You live contented,
unaware this love that burns beneath my breast, or else you refuse to accept.
My mouth failed to form the words my heart spoke.
Appearing in Anonymous Confessions, Copyright © of Stacy Lynn Mar 2006
Although the night's eye will find me curled
beneath the soft caresses of my down comfort, lost in a dream
of you and I, mad with passion, ravenously in love. Yet I lie alone,
crazy with desire for a man whose heart I cannot contain.
The days deem me forever preoccupied with wonderment: How do
your lips taste? How would my body feel, to know your arms' embrace?
Would forever with you treat me kindly? If a love affair means
I love you and you use me, for tonight that'll be okay.
I meet you between daylight and darkness, your lips find me first.
We lay in sync, my body blanketed beneath your bare skin.
The glowing paleness of who you are, your hungry eyes feasting upon
my naked flesh, the smell of your Old Spice...it's almost nostalgic now.
Passion is my righteous woe this night, for you leave hurriedly,
already late for that important premiere performance. I won't attend
the debut tonight, nor sit giddy in my plush red chair, cheering you on.
I'll be lying here tangled in nakedness and the sheets we made love on.
Damn the moon, that mad cyclops and his dreary midnight. Those conniving,
twinkling stars which warily predict the predomination of one's life. They
leave my arms empty tonight and my dreams unfinished. You live contented,
unaware this love that burns beneath my breast, or else you refuse to accept.
My mouth failed to form the words my heart spoke.
Appearing in Anonymous Confessions, Copyright © of Stacy Lynn Mar 2006
| ~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 |