Dreaming of Him Loving Me
Early Morning
Weeping Willow at Dawn
(from poetryinreflection.com)
Through limp willows weeping silently near the bayou,
The lazy rhythms float on gentle breezes
And slide through the crack
In my broken window.
It’s not yet hot,
But he’s already sweating,
And the cool bead that swayed loosely
From the cleft of his chin
Tumbles down, landing on my bared hip.
I shudder.
He smiles.
I drink the sight of the pinkness of his tongue
Parting the brown lips,
And I “mmm” audibly.
Expectancy tingles the tips of my toes,
Slithers up my legs,
And gathers in my thighs.
I love the way he…
“Ah.”
Memos from the Middle 