Raining in Eden:
A Stretched Sonnet
This poem has been haunting me for daysit seems. Since that afternoon. Are they fears
that kept me silent? Perhaps. Something sears
through me. (Her face above your chest.) It says
shhh... it's better to be safe. My dears,
I need your help. My hands are cold. The ways --
so dark and steep, the paths so cloaked in greys;
and is this rain (the falling of her tears)?
We bent over you. Our hands might have brushed
and the contact left me trembling, weak
with the urge to raise my hand, the fierce desire
to touch her face. I would not have rushed
but lingered, savoring the curve of cheek --
and what would she have done? Would it be rain,
or fire?
*****
East of Temple Square, Salt Lake City
And another...
Slow Learner
I never thought that I would learn to lovethe feel of you inside my mouth, of sun-warmed
velvet over polished wood, against my tongue,
so sweet. That I would whisper little nothings,
love you with both lips, hold you to my cheek
and shaking, weak, breathe in half-drawn gasps.
There was a time; you must remember when
my mouth would stay near yours; my tongue
might lick an ear, a collarbone or hollow of
your fragile throat, or even dip to taste your
belly -- but that was all. My thighs would part
with pleasure, but only lower lips dared
to engulf you.
Well, that was long ago, I know. I learned
not to mind, and even to be glad to give
some pleasure back in turn -- please do not
misunderstand! It was no great sacrifice
I made; just a simple little task, well
justified by the slow calming of your heart
as I lay against your chest, afterwards,
thudding quiet in my ear. And yet...
If I had known that this would be
such joy, such fun...if I had known
how I would learn to crave the fullness
of you, the pulsebeat deep inside
my throat -- if I had only known...
Well.
We might have spent our weekends somewhat differently.
*****