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Why did you come to my bedroom,
lusty, cheeky and beaming,
your gaze imprisoning my gaze,
your eyes devouring my dreaming?
To a covert sexual arsonist
whispering my name, I rose
engorged, teased, and ignited -
concrete with fear, I froze.
Closet brain combusting,
burned by your blue Bunsen flame,
I ached for your lips, an explicit kiss,
an explosion that came without shame,
a kiss I had desperately longed for,
a kiss I would never deny,
a kiss I so hoped you wanted,
a kiss that put me by your side.
A kiss, missed, in a moment,
an unreachable droplet of time,
splashing my memories with blushes
of love-lust lost in my mind.
Smirking, you turned your back.
Glowing with knowing, you went,
leaving my trust as embers,
charred, lonely, and bent.
I confess - I sometimes still think of you,
and covet your inevitable wife.
You still have what you stole from me,
so, I might steal it back with my knife.
All Rights. Paul Baguley.
Paul takes most of his breaths in Lincoln, while being confused by life and baffled by people. He writes poetry and fiction, and enjoys nature, art, film, and technology. He can easily be stalked digitally.
