The object of my poem

The object of my poem

To the object of my poem,

I'm falling in love with you,

who I can not have,

You the one I am not supposed to love,

this much.

I feel my heart an ocean of waves each time I remember your smile,

that floods my mind, 

my heart, 

that felt so cold then, 

but leaks with desire for you now, 

I smiled.

With a red dented by your words that I will never forget.

When I spoke to you for the first time,

For hours on end.

We connected,

though I thought, the words we spoke two world's apart,

I'd hoped I was wrong.

That these worlds would allow us a moment or more,

these worlds that can't be.

I'd feel your touch in the nights I'd sleep with butterflies, 

your loving scent when the morning breeze wakes me up.

I'd hold that bliss, 

like I'd take in all of you, 

after the nights I'd thought we had.

I imagined the scent of you on my wanting skin,

the warmth and desire in your teasing whispers,

That's the thing with you, 

I can never be sure.

Though I told you, 

you were perfect.

And I meant it.

You said my mind was rare.

Now we speak of things that only we can understand,

a new language,

Our language we spoke,

said...

Bee sting, South, Project,

A language we spoke,

Together we'd hoped that we would love in these words we spoke.

In song.

It wasn't your picture I saw,

but a mind I interacted with without knowing to whom it belonged.

I enjoyed your mind.

Your way of thinking,

I'd have gladly made love to your thoughts,

The voice of my mind spoke in tongues to me and I broke.

I cannot hold my love on this tongue of mine any longer,

Your mere voice a muse that sang songs to me, 

with a voice that made me sure of myself.

In my mind you sang.

I decided then, 

that that was the kind of voice I needed then, 

the kind of words I wanted to hear in bed,

I lay there wanting more of you.

I didn't feel as much seeing you stand up front,

because I'd felt that way in the first words you spoke, 

in the first words that took me to the edge, 

a place I'd now learned to call home. 

In your eyes I'd seen what I wanted.

I'd succumbed to the urges of the flesh, 

the songs my heart sang, 

to make music with you.

Hit the the right notes, 

and speak to each other like the night never ends,

sing for me,

to music I'd make with you.

09/11/2018✅

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