adrift bug 100x100

Touched only with a word,
never my lips.
Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat.

Though my lips shaped the word
the wind carried it to her ear.

How much happier would I be if
my lips were there,
to deliver the word?

But the word only grazed them,
lonely as they are,
as it passed from my tongue.

The giddiness of temptation.
The pang of anticipation.
Too long. Too far,
I long for the eclipse.
From my breath to her lips.

adrift bug 100x100


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