source through the tips of my fingers as
I wait for the moment to extinguish itself.
There was never someone else
waiting in the billows,
but the way I felt when I closed my eyes
and let the breeze pass through me,
blowing my hair against my skin - it changed everything.
Reassurance and surrender
rambled through my mind and hands
as the final dance and contemplation
of my soul’s reflection tapped across the sky.
Open meadow.
She came slow this morning like long masses of fog rolling in over the lazy hills.
I could feel every part of her
as if she were dew falling off blades of grass.
The wrinkles in my hands crushed one another
as I squeezed the back of her hair-covered head.
I had to jump over each one of her breaths
as if they were long fences in a meadow.
I was able to travel around enough
to smell scents of sex and taste the inside of her.
As the wetness from the early grass seeped into our skin,
we listened to the crickets.
We ended on our backs staring up at the barren blue sky,
wondering if all the clouds evaporated into both of our thirsts for the other
S.W. has been writing since she could hold a pen. She spends her time cheersing to sunsets and wandering down unknown streets in search of all the magic and mystery life has to offer. You can find her newest self-published poetry book called, “The White Pages: Words to fill the void,” on Amazon Kindle and you can also find her on Instagram hosting The Poetry Café every Sunday.
Instagram: @wordsbysw
wordsbysw.com
wordsbysw@gmail.com
