Sunday Afternoon in his Arms

Love; it has a funny way of creeping up on you.
It breathes a whisper on your skin; it pressing its lips on your shoulder; it burns the memory of its presence in your mind; its life in your heart.
Love; it's pretty funny.
It makes you laugh for nothing; it makes you smile at the wind; it makes you happy.
Love: when it leaves you are sad it has left; but happy to have known it. Love; what a wonderful person.

A kiss

I tasted of a man’s lips; to say it was sweet would be deceit.

They left an imprint of which there’s no fading; as yet it seems.

Tingles; thrills; all these I did feel in memory.

In sleep; dazed in sitting; his lips have played their jig.

I cannot forget it; no matter how hard I try and hard have I.

I am in need that’s dire to feel his lips on mine for a little longer than a while.

I have tasted of a man’s lips and I dare of their taste, have I need.

I have to resist for all aside he isn’t free.

A taken man has ensnared me.