Lesbian # Beginning Partners #desire #wanting #LGBTQ

Her Velvet Glove


I woke up alone again this morning 
It felt like you wanted me to
like I was crawling through miles of sand
and I could not reach you
to say what I feel right now

I know those words
that are tinged
in coral creamy rings
that cling upon my skin
reminding me - of conversations
that bled into a deeper reality

it is that reality that I want, I am faced
and shell shocked at needing anyone,
any woman Like I do this way
but those words are the charcoal mark
that purifies and holds me

leading me on into the light of today
that is where I stand-
beyond the painted frosted windows
of yesterday’s storms

but these words
are not those remembered in coral rings
nor of past storms, but the water sign
of a woman's essence-
that is gentle soft and pure

of long remembering-
afternoons that turn west to sleep
and turns again into the sun
they are the words for all things considered
in all times-

they are moments that inspire and breathe
reminding me of the warmth-
soft like a velvet glove slipped over the hand
velvet words spoken by touch

they are the words we own to touch
in the room that was still not yet ours
because you need to, I woke alone
wild, and strewn about me

your guitar, shoes, laptop, tops and jeans
jammed with mine, the velvet glove
partially touching each word
in the room-
that was was not yet ours

we feel our way through touch and words
that fall upon the skin-
clothed in sunrises and the moons silver tinge
in a room full of heavy breaths
humid and fragrant
a delicately breathed-
up heaving
filled with living music that beats
a throbbing dance
within me

words breathed against your thighs
buried in hilly images
visible across the open doorway
moving in and through the delicate prose
that weaves sensually-rising steadily
through the worded hallway

as I write the rhythms, in your flesh

the throbbing beat-
speaks in telepathy

crossing clean cotton shirts
with folded sleeves
pushed back
scented with cologne
the amber bottled of words now unsealed

as one to the other, your wine is poured
out on my naked mind and un-gloved hand
those words, now our poetry,
in the open room,
where we no longer sleep alone

by; dannigirl933

Posted; 2/8/2020

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