I felt your eyes,
even after I looked away,
your gaze like the slip of fingers
a touch as aching as the echo of passion’s whispers
filling me with longing
for the crush of lavender and lemon blossom,
a wildflower tucked behind my ear,
a wreath of laurel tangled in my hair.
Awakening memories I must have known.
How else the knowing?
My back arching as your tongue and hands,
The rise of blood and heat as of a fire kindled,
A fan of flames seeking upward
and carried thus, I see us, as from above
two molded into one
An electric shimmer
a rising pulse
taking shape, given form
words I once called out
Ignited by a glance across a crowded room.
Awake, at last, I rose and followed.
If you enjoyed this you might also like these stories from Bernadette Joy: