Whispers to a Current Flame

The curtains incandescent from a morning glow,
breathing in and out, sending luminous tides
to and fro across your face; you let them paint you.

Inside you a storm brews –
you imagine the whole of me melting in your grasp,
my body tantalised and reformed by the movements of yours.

Lying down under a humid breeze, you let my face sink into your chest,
watching the hair on my forehead flicker and reveal a childhood scar
from time to time.

With you I can be cleansed, nude, dressed, altogether;
without clothes we are robed by the summer,
with clothes we filled with the desire to uncover the landscapes
that live over us.

You devour me again and again, reducing me to the bare emptiness
of a fulfilled desire, waiting for me to open my eyes
only to undress me into a further nudity.

The evening arrives; must we go on for a walk and talk about the films we like and the poetry we left unwritten, while debating over what to try for dinner? Everyday passes as I watch you grow into a woman, scene by scene culminating into something maturer and calmer, nurturing me and using me, filling me and robbing me, coming to me and leaving me.

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