Fantasy
In this room –
this Universe of Eternal Morning –
with the sun sliding on to the rumpled sheets,
let me awaken
and find you;
consumed by the cotton of my shirt,
wearing nothing else.
Come show me the calm, cool
country of your neck
and let me conquer,
claim it with kisses
Name it for mine own
Let there be no sound
but your laughter.
Let there be no touch
but your body's.
No taste
but your breath.
No scent
but comes from you.
And let there be only us
In this room –
this Universe of Eternal Morning…
About Me
- Ruel Johnson
- Freelance journalist, editorial consultant and writer living and working in Georgetown, Guyana.
2 comments:
awesome poem,
"consumed by the cotton of my shirt, wearing nothing else."
--You know what my man would say if he saw my bare ass in his expensive cotton shirt? "Hon, you don't have a t-shirt of your own you could put on?" Then he might soften it up by saying, "actually I could see more of your lovely ass in a t-shirt."
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