If you are really thankful, what do you do?
You share.
— W. Clement Stone —
delicioso…
Stand close – so very close – to me…
but don’t touch me, Lover.
Make me linger in this anticipation of you.
the night torn mad with footsteps…
the end is near…
Like, really near…
an unquiet one…
Being adored… and feeling it.
Being wanted… and seeing it.
(It is possible… here in this moment, now.)
Being desired… and knowing it.
This is the pleasure beyond lust.
This is the hope beyond what has passed.
This is the glow in my eyes when I look at you.
Yes, at you.
when an hour isn’t an hour…
action and reaction…
love sonnet xi…
L
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
— Pablo Neruda —
