petite morte (poem)
2003-07-10 � 8:00 p.m.
This is a poem of mine I names "Petite Morte" which means orgasm in french. I'm sure most of ya'll knew that....but no one ever gets the connection...I hope you like it!!
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I die...in part...
each time I envision
those liquid brown eyes
that pulse in rhythm with your heart-
expanding and contracting in miniscule increments
so that it is barely noticeable
how the flecks of gold and green
absorb and retract light waves
to conform them into the most
wonderfully entrancing hue...
that is the way I see you...
some paranormal phenomenal amalgam
floating through this world vicariously
while I lay awake at night hoping childishly
that tomorrow will be the day
that you will say
"With all your faults and flaws and quirky mannerisms,
I can't help but love you anyway."
You...
you have no idea of how you have bewitched me...
of how I pine away wistfully
yearning for your praise and touch...
completely haunted by the idea of having you here...
with me...
inside-
finally....
then die could we...
spasing slowly into
blinding hues of burgundy
to melt into the midnight horizon...
so angels could blow our crystallized particles into the wind
like kisses at each other with glee
while giggling and high from the joy that emits from me
just from mere fleeting thoughts of you
and we would float on eternally...
oh....so happy we could be....
if only you would love me....
like I have always love you...
no longer would these futile feelings kill me,
for together we would finally
find our elusive redemption---
no longer enslaved by the shackles of our past follies
blissfully...then...
would
die
we...
over and over,
forever and ever,
safe and sated
in each other's
arms.
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