My Body Remembers

Just as I am about to fall asleep,
muscles involuntarily twitch and
relive one stroke, then another – just there.
I shiver, quiver, wake confused, before
I settle back in the bedclothes smiling;
as I did so many nights with you…once.

My body remembers your caresses,
the contact of your flesh against my flesh.
I cradle my pillow between warm thighs
and wish myself to fall asleep again –
if nothing else I will find you in dream
and reach that peak my muscles remember.

One hand on breast, the other on belly,
I drift off imagining they’re your hands.



Hidden in the Shadows

The look on his face when she touches him –
his grey eyes shifting from green to hazel;
a shadow hides what he’s thinking.
Once upon a time she knew the answer.

Hidden in the shadows are all her fears;
she’s afraid to speak for the fear of losing
what she already has and cannot lose.
Once upon a time she knew she was his.

She feels the sensation of his passion
passing her by; he cannot see her want
and does not want to see her desire.
Once upon a time, it was his to have.

Her fears engulf them, casting long shadows
and hidden beneath – once upon a time.

~ Siobhan

Near the Edge

When I’m most certain that this is all there
is; that I can’t step one more step forward,
I recall the desire and passion
we share; when you bend to kiss the dimple
at the small of my back, trail your fingers
down my spine and confess so much to me.

This exact moment, held inside, is now
brought out when I am near the edge, keeps me
looking forward into the next moment,
when your lips kiss the corner of my mouth
and whisper how much you love that I am
open with you, that I share my body
only with you. At the edge, I remain
captured by what I imagine was there.

~ Siobhan

Erase My Existence

I venture into a house, wander in
to a room and then in to another;
drop my card on a table in the first
and one on the counter in the second.

I glance at pictures on the wall, wonder
who the people are, what their lives are like.
If they’re interesting to talk to – or not;
if they’re remarkable in any way.

As I survey the novel surroundings,
an uncomfortable sensation seeps in;
I think again, collect my cards, and leave.
My desire: erase my existence.

Eyes open with no rose-colored glasses,
I realize I’m not ready for this.


Music and Wine

Bottle bleach blond in tight black jeans hangs on
to the man she’s with while her hair flip flirt
attracts attention from across the room.

A quartet of young things waltz in without
a man among them – drinking something sweet –
more concerned with gossip than the music.

A future bottle blonde snuggles her man,
adjusts her sweater vest to advantage.
simulates cleverness and then giggles.

None of them listen to the lyrics, none
appreciate the guitarist’s efforts,
or the variations of the trumpet.

She absorbs the sounds, captures images
in her mind; one artist to another.



She rolls over in bed at the soft sound …
his voice; it’s not close – perhaps not even
really there. A conversational tone
with a hint of laughter. Her lips curving
to a smile in her half-awake sleep state.

A smile of memory, a smile of her
remembered desire. As her mind wakes
to it, the smile fades a little – yet
it doesn’t disappear. He hasn’t gone;
just vanished from her immediate life.

He hovers around the edges, a piece
of past she hasn’t let go of – hasn’t
wanted to let go of…not yet – maybe
never. She still holds on – to his smile.


Softer Than Her Own

She drew a line down the edge of his jaw,
fingers played with the wiry grey
covering his scarred chest; her palm rested
on his shoulder, her cheek pressed to hear his heart.

His flesh, warm beneath her touch, was softer
than her own. In fascination, she watched
arousal flush across his body; his
nipples hardened, his breath became shallow

and to her delight – a moan escaped lips
brushed with her kiss. Heady with such power
she allowed her hands to wander slowly,
explored every inch of him with her mouth.

This is what love tastes like, she thought, pausing
to savor the bitter and sweet of him.


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