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Dew Point

I know the feeling to be loved.
to be wanted.
in sprinkles and anger droplets
formed near the crevice of the eye
but we dare not speak of. No. It's too hard
to speak of
loving to be wanted.
in fiery liquid spurts
formed between linen sheets and thunderous thighs.
but we do not dare speak of it. Yes. It's too wonderful
to remember the
wanting to be loved.
in subliminal thought clouds following me
in rude awakenings and sweet reveries.
I know the feeling to be loved.
I do know
the loving
the showering
of gifts and small trinkets of remembrance.
But we dare to recollect the time. Date. Exact moment. No. It's too painful
to even remember the flowers that wrinkled in time
desiring to be loved.
secretly being your umbrella in rain. A shelter of
fortitude when pellets titter- patter on vinyl and plastic
creating mildew stains. How I wish it were a
parasol, shielding me from the sun instead.
Remember the sunny days?
I do.
I know the feeling to be loved.
wanting to be loved.
desiring to be loved.
staying in love.
being in love.
showering me
in rain droplets
hitting liquid on my skin,
steamy from the sun.

28 of 30 in #30in30, April 2012


  1. Love can be fickle like that. Nice write, imagery on point!


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