Yesterday, when she kissed me goodbye, she had that look in her eyes again;
The one I dread the most just before the other shoe drops
“Why don’t you ever write about me?”
The longing smile that inevitably turns into a wistful frown, freezes…
How do I let her know? How do I tell her that she is my only muse without breaking the spell?
That the way she says my name breathes life into who I am, even to those that have never laid their eyes upon my being? I know…
I know that because I only start living in her presence
And when she departs, I wither away and die, awaiting her return to bloom my petals because it’s spring once again.
How do I make her see that I only see through her softly brown pools with halos of  white cloud?
That’s it’s always in her eyes that I stumble l, and no matter how much I brace myself expecting it, I can never quite catch my fall. I can never find my footing and all I ever do is flail tripping over my own legs?
I would like for someone to teach me; teach me how to touch her because maybe I don’t get it quite right.
How do I skim her skin in a way that talks to her? That tells her how I find the gods and goddesses in every dip and curve?
That the scent of her keeps me titillating at the edge where reality fades into that pure bliss most can only afford to fantasize about?
That my senses only awaken to experience her and it’s like that sniff of lemongrass to a stuffed nose?
How do I tell her that she makes me human and still hold fast to this spell?
I could learn magik and make a potent love potion to make her sip mouth to mouth every day but…
I’m still drunk on this wine collected from a vineyard of dark and juicily ripe berries; and there is enough for several later(s)
Let me pour the finest into her honey-glazed lips and maybe she’ll deem me worthy of the prayers she whispers to the heavens on her knees, and I am right behind her in step watching them come true.
Maybe then, I can afford a chaste kiss and a lick of her brow to taste the drop of sweat rolling in between her dips…

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