Before we’ve met

I’ve dreamt you

I tempt you

you are the touch of my bed;

the tip of your nose is my pillows soft linen thread

the cool tiles on the wall is what I feel when I press into your chest

the cool running water is where your fingers linger and rest

the air is your lips filled with my uncontainable bliss

the jingle of my earring is your tongue and sweet kiss

my palm is your palm that squeezes tight

my legs intertwine in the wanton night.

Although we have not met; it is not the thoughts of our act that races my heart,

but our mutual morsels of words

whispered in dark.

Darcy-Lee Tindale