Sunday, May 20, 2007

Quicksand

The tea cup seems colder today
                        porcelain rough against
                        my pink chapped lips
                        A familiar ritual of soothing thoughts
                        wrapped in alluring aroma -
                        unfound and growing colder
                        even with the rising warmth of the sun
                        The sounds of morning's brightness
                        fade with my quiet reflection
                        upon the space that we shared
                        Sweat and sweetness combined
                        creating and repeating
                        the pattern of breathing
                        an afternoon's rhymes of passion
                        And my footsteps vain attempt
                        to bring myself one step closer
                        to your contagious high
                        fail to reach you
                        Unable to move forward
                        as I sink deeper
                        disappearing too fast
                        into this longing sadness...
                        My infinite quicksand of desire

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