Poetry In Motion

Poetry In Motion

His touch is gentle; his hands strong yet feather-light on her bare skin. His fingers trace circles, patterns; he marvels at the feel of her.

She responds to his caresses, delicate, careful. He worships her body, and a fire long since forgotten burns within her once more.

Their passion grows. A need, all-consuming, all-powerful, takes over and they lose themselves in each other.

For him, there is release- an escape from the torture that punishes him daily. He is free of the pain, the guilt; he knows nothing but her, and the rest of the world falls away.

His surrender is the sweetest wine.

For her, it is an awakening. An epiphany. The tangled web of dreams and disappointment has left her and she sees only him. He is her salvation; she is his.

Her love is balm to his aching heart.

He whispers her name. . .and enters her. Cherishes her. Loves her. She is his everything; mind, body, soul. She completes him, tempers his storm and calms the ocean of doubt and despair. He needs her, as a dying man in the desert needs water, needs life. And she gives herself willingly.

Afterwards, she falls asleep, safe in his arms. And he watches her, as he always does. She is beautiful, at peace; content in his embrace and in her dreams of him. Dreams of the night they've shared.

He strokes her hair and murmurs words she doesn't hear but will, he vows, someday soon. He tells of his love for her, his desire; she gives him hope and shines sunlight on the darkness that is his soul.

But he is scared. He has lost so much and been lost so many times. What would happen if he lost her?

He denies the question. He already knows the answer. And so, he withdraws. Pulls away. From her and the peace she brings.

He distances himself but the hope remains. One day, they will be whole, together, and he will have his salvation. One day, he will be hers.