for three days
-
to wake with the sun
and warm skin, sweet with sweat
the glancing
graze of loves hand across
the edge of slumber
****
Instead I am pent up exhaustion and borderline madness. I feel the creeping edge of the limit of my exertion, hoping that I have a fuck left to give. Part of it may be that I haven't had a half-competent lover in a year. I haven't really dated beyond physical informality in two.
-
I could be sick when I consider the chapters of text to work through this evening: environmental science which may be due in an hour, I must check; a few chapters of Ladyman; write a draft of my thesis; read the entire quarter's worth of art history articles; prepare my bibliography for artech and biomedia.
***
I want to pause
three more minutes
-
inhale sharply and imagine my
waist secured, nearly encircled
in a firm ten fingered grasp
**
I am chilled, my skin pulling close under my tights demands a portion of my attention. I know I would be more comfortable if I would simply stand, retrieve the items I came here for, and return to my task at hand.
-
Until a moment can be stolen from time, wrestled from the narrow pass between untouched lips, the same that pulls breath from chest, firm press of knee to knee, I come undone
*
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