A poem by Heather Farley:
I’m a fool for that sound in your midnight whispers,
A fool for your young almond eyes,
Foolish for the dark strands locked on in my lips,
For all your ideas and dreams of worlds untainted by humanity.
In my movement,
In my gaze,
In my touch,
I affect you.
I see it in flashes when you look back and say;
A tenuous bridge to a world undiscovered emerges in your stares,
And I balance carefully, walking the steps to your fort’s front door,
Grasping at anything to reach your home.
Your rusting brick wall you sit at;
For I want to join you in your dystopian love.
To be in your mind
inside your mazes,
Under your protection, your barriers and your sheets,
On paths of no direction;
Back and forth I walk in the mist,
Up and down I’ll run in your rain,
Spiral and swirl in your hurricane.
To watch the art create itself;
Like looking at a sunrise,
Watching a child growing into a woman or man,
The winter nights turn to spring mornings,
Your blockades and barracks dissolve in your mind as my kiss softens the blow,
You lying there;
Glistening in the moonlight,
for the sweat trickles down your side and glimmers on you neck,
This raw physicality,
Felt like the way nature intended beauty to be;
Uncorrupted just caressed in the company of two.
As I move and stroll across your surfaces,
Tracing your outline with my nails,
Painting your fine features with my tongue,
We make beauty implode into an arching symphony of ecstasy
My hands scratch brushstroke in your tanned skins,
While I hold you;
Hold your back off the pale sheets,
Keep close to your quivering frame,
Tenderly resting you down when I resist pulling you harder onto me.
To be the spark in the fire
Or the drop in the floods
The moon that fell asleep to let the sunshine burn alive again
To be part of you,
is in itself my elation
Never has sensuality been this safe for me,
I’ll remain a fool
A fool in your presence I’ll stumble and stutter..
But when time slows,
Nothing’s changing but were evolving,
When your eyes rest,
peacefully into your youth,
For you could just be just a girl,
when your hair is musty and you skin unraveled in blankets
I’ll watch as still life envelopes me,
Becomes the beating drum at which I’ll slow my mind to the rhythm of,
A constancy in twisted sheets and single beds
I’ll let go, and watching you,
I’ll fall carelessly to sleep,
Lying near that which I cannot cage own or possess,
Just hold until the morning sun rises again,
When I’ll fade foolishly like the moon always does at dawn..