euphoria untitled 11Your imagined silken words slidelike droplets of kisseson the down of my belly.I have missed your whispered caresses,wished for the ways you made me want.My fingers search out my Selfas my mind slips the cotton over your shouldersand lets modesty gently drop to the floor.So real--So surreal.My body has already forgottenhow far away you truly are.
Connect the StarsThe stars are thick tonight.I can see three galaxies deep--the sky is like a three-dimensional child's game,and I can't help butConnect the dots fromtheretohere.Zigzag across midnight with me,to the place where our azimuths meet.Count the stars between us,and draw a path to mewith a wishing fingertip...sooner or later you will touchthe same one I'm wishing on.
Milk - by euphoriaBlue-white milk sits forgottennext to half a cookie;as her blue-white armlies still on the floor.
Hope - by euphoriahope10/25/02tangible as it rollsbetween fingers moistwith the sweat of desire,stinging in the cutsof past should-have-beensthat line my hands;but sweeter than sugar waterlicked from your waiting lips.
Outside the ShadowsWhite walls greet me as I awaken, peppered with pictures, moments encapsulated, preserved for happy memories or ongoing torture. Ivory dress, black tux. Smiles for the camera and for the new life beginning. I don't know why I still have those pictures up. Maybe for the same reason I carry my wedding ring with me. Sometimes I wear it, telling myself it's just so I don't lose it. It's tighter than it used to be. I still spin it slowly when I'm lost in thought.Everything is different. New apartment, new phone number. New clothes. Same bed, though. I still sleep on the left side, even though I could take up the entire bed now. It's too cold to stretch out, and now that it's only my body heat beneath the covers, it's not worth the effort to try and warm the whole bed.I hit the snooze exactly 4 more times. Thirty-six minutes of sleep. I get up, and begin the same routine that happens every day. Get bowl of cereal for Alex, find towel, shower. I always lean my head against th
Affinityyour fingertips draw patternson the surface of meand the ripples slide outdisturbing the sanctity of the depths belowand moving the sand at the bottom.