“He sang of the first permission of flesh and flesh to entangle
how we abandon the guard of our heart and throw our borders
open and welcome a sweet invader to take possession
the sudden exquisite catch in a throat and the slow hush
of a breath unfettered the sweetest sounds to a lover’s ear
He sang of hands finding shyly at first their way
to another shelf of hips oh how the heart flares
and melts like wax spilling over a candle’s lip”
I can’t get Craig Arnold’s words out of my mind the last few weeks. Re-reading poems again and again..
As I sat there, holding a conversation, my eyes were drawn to the bottom of a tattoo. Slightly peaking out beneath short shirt sleeves. Trying to focus, I bounced my eyes back to his, stormy and always squinting with a smile. How I want to remove his shirt, and see what’s underneath. Touch my fingers to his taut nipples. Gaze upon that which I have desired for so long.. I want to see the shock envelope his face when he realizes I have finally crossed the line. To hold him down and make him admit what he wants. Maybe then those smiling eyes might waver.