under the spell of his hands

day dreaming into the night

my head hits the pillow and love pours out

shadows become rose-colored

cupid hides behind every corner

aiming his arrow straight into my heart.

The thrill of early infatuation rushes through my veins and

suddenly time is meaningless unless it’s spent

memorizing the map of his skin.

I float Monday through Friday just so I can get to

fantasy-fueled Saturday nights and

Sunday mornings drenched in desire.

It seems that the excitement of new romance

is my favorite drug after all-

more intoxicating than booze,

more exciting than finding the perfect pair of shoes…

My mind stores away the stolen glances and trailing fingertips,

the thirsty lips caressing my skin,

just to play it back to me at its will.

I’m an addict now, always craving more-

more breathless nights, more lazy mornings in bed intertwined,

more exploration of what my body craves

without shame.

Flashbacks find me wherever I am

and turn me useless

under the spell

of his hands.

Categories Creative Writing, Poetry, ProseTags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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