Grrrrrr...
OK, so I've looked and I've looked, and I still can't find my stash of scrap papers that I call poems. Good thing I'm on vacation the week after Thanksgiving; that's when I clean my house before the holidays. With any luck, I'll stumble across them during my flurry of activity.
In the meantime, this is an old poem that I wrote in med school. I've always liked it. I wish I could write something new, but this migraine is preventing me from thinking straight. Stupid Nutella binge.
Dreams...the too familiar meeting place
For our forbidden tryst -
My skin tingles, quivers as if tickled
By a light ocean mist
Anticipating your touch; our eyes are magnets
Drawn by force to sight;
I break mine coyly away, then back again
To find your gaze fixed right
To the place from
Where I left it...
Your hand extends to touch my face
With tenderness not known to any
Person, dreamed or real. My lowered chin is raised
By fingers strong, and so many
Feather-kisses shower over my closing eyes.
Rosy-pink skin is flushed with fever
Of waiting, wanting, knowing that this dream
Is not destined to last forever -
As you start to fade
With the waiting mist...
In the meantime, this is an old poem that I wrote in med school. I've always liked it. I wish I could write something new, but this migraine is preventing me from thinking straight. Stupid Nutella binge.
Dreams...the too familiar meeting place
For our forbidden tryst -
My skin tingles, quivers as if tickled
By a light ocean mist
Anticipating your touch; our eyes are magnets
Drawn by force to sight;
I break mine coyly away, then back again
To find your gaze fixed right
To the place from
Where I left it...
Your hand extends to touch my face
With tenderness not known to any
Person, dreamed or real. My lowered chin is raised
By fingers strong, and so many
Feather-kisses shower over my closing eyes.
Rosy-pink skin is flushed with fever
Of waiting, wanting, knowing that this dream
Is not destined to last forever -
As you start to fade
With the waiting mist...