Temperate Tossed

Sweet, Autumn woman.
made of ginger and spice,
and you imagine how
her hands will feel
before they map
the hard line of
your chin - you
sense the warmth
of her lips before
they touch each
eyelid, and somehow
her tongue tastes of
sunshine and black
licorice. she's got
your daydreams
sequentially on repeat,
replaying every syrupy
moan and each
soft breath, thick like
maple trailing your neck.
what will you do with
this woman you cannot
touch, but with your
kindness? what will you
do with this woman,
your garnet eyes cannot
see, but with your imagination?

© October 2009