Tingling in the aftermath of your kiss,
clinging to every memory in bliss,
I float through the day as if in a dream,
my flushed face radiates a rosy gleam.
My colleagues are whispering and smiling,
expecting to hear about my new fling,
always before we shared our encounters,
describing details like story tellers.
I'm avoiding their inquisitive looks,
pretending to be engrossed in a book,
I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself,
so I slip quietly behind a shelf.
Your features are imprinted in my mind,
I'm recognizing that I'm in a bind,
strongly I feel that it is not a fling,
my nerve endings tell me it’s the real thing.
Time is Flying By
1 day ago
2 comments:
OMG !!!!!!!!!!!!! When you come out of the closet , you come out of the closet ! LOL ! DO I know him ????
Most of the time my poems are not personal experiences. In fact I have no idea what I'm going to write about. I sit in a quiet place with a blank sheet of paper and within 15 minutes I have completed a poem. I relate my poetry to photography in the sense that you point the camera in one direction and snap a shot and then point it in another direction capturing a very different scene.
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