My Hand
Adore you
So much
That sometimes my hesitant touch
Is barely enough for you to register.
As I hold my breath for the gorgeousness of you.
Each moan, each returned caress grounds me, arouses me, empowers me to be more bold.
To trace patterns on your skin, fleetingly soft,
As sweet as unsteady, as light as my heart in your presence.
Want you
so deeply, so viscerally, so essentially.
When you press into my embrace,
when you arch up towards me,
when you offer me your flesh.
What else can I do but kiss and nibble, scritch, scratch and dig my nails in deep.
To leave hot impressions of my desire for you.
Needing to sink my touches deep
so you feel them
seep into your soul.
Love you.
Every beautiful inch of you, body and brains included.
The laughs, the smiles, the sometimes silly asides.
The intensity of looks, of purposeful touch, that rocks every fibre
And leaves nothing but a mantra of loving exclamations where thought should be.
Does it translate via fingertips and kiss plumped lips into something only you can understand?
Adore you
Want you
Love you.
Let me show you.
H’s hand
Nice poem. I’m jealous, I can’t write poetry to save myself.
I’ve always had an affinity for poetry and currently my muse makes me wax poetical. :)
It’s nice to read something different…the pacing of the words pulling the reader along into the emotions. x
Thanks, I really enjoyed writing this and just went with the flow.
I feel this on such a personal level that I almost have tears in my eyes. If I wrote something about JB’s hands, it would probably be quite similar. I love this!
Aww, Kayla, I’m glad this connected with you so strongly. I was sat with H in a coffee shop when I wrote this. Not touching…and all I could think about was, well, this. <3