Window Bliss

In

With my breath

I inhale

The sweetest of ever-so-frequent

Daydreams.

He is

Walking towards me, he is

Walking for me

I am of purpose and

Beauty

In his eyes

On his lips

He’ll lick them once

Twice

Maybe three times

To remind his mind

Of my taste

He’ll

Gently extend his arms

Wrap my waist in them

As though for all eternity

I have been but a darling dust

Now

A tangible figure

A stainable physique

A

Traceable outline.

He’ll stare

Right into my eyes

With those lost,

Carmel-brown,

Lost

Eyes of his

And slowly glide across

The sand dune of my

Lower lip

Reading it

With hunger and yearning

Like a radical psychic reading

Her crystal ball

With so

Much

Desire.