Monday, May 18, 2015
Do they feel soft,
These quivering moist pink lips
That glisten in the dim light?
Are they as hot as they seem,
But pressed tight like a treasure chest
I ache to open; but need no pirate’s map
To see what lies inside,
Just the courage to reach in and take it,
Hoping the theft will go undetected
Or better, accepted,
Making me sway as if still lost at sea
Unable to keep the tides from rising
And drowning me in their salty scent.
I drink nothing and still I feel drunk,
A staggering mass of unintended consequences
Rocking up and down and sideways
Until I cease to know which was is which
Or which way I intended to go in the first place,
Keeping sane only by wishing for
That which I can not have,
The imponderable mysteries of life:
Do they feel soft?
What if I touch them?
Will they even be enough?
Can I stop once I start?
How many times can I sink
Before I finally drown,
In this sea of potential bliss,
This potent mix,
This soft embrace?
Or have I already drowned
And do not know it?