Your lashes leave butterfly kisses on my skin
Sinking in like ink on thin
White paper
"Maybe later"
Silk skirts swishing like whispered
Conversations coming in with the wind
Do you think that the ocean sees us
Dancing? Do you think that it
Makes its waves to imitate
What we do?
I wish I knew
They say the moon pulls it about
But is it playful or sinful or just plain wrong?
Am I right? Or are
The men with microscopes and stethoscopes and
Minds that span the universe
The ones with all the answers?
Does anyone have the answers?
Until I know
I'll keep making up my own
You're kissing me now with bloodred lips
And too much tongue
There isn't enough room to breathe
Under the sheets
Where have the butterfly kisses gone?
Does the ocean know
What is going on?
Is this playful or sinful or just plain wrong?
Do either of us know the answers?