Blissful Sunday

Ok.. so I'm not really having much of a Blissful Sunday today, but it seemed weird to not post this poem on a Sunday, and there is always the chance of being reminded of some more wonderful and sexier times ;>

Hard to believe I wrote this ~13 years ago though... I did decide via doing this whole blogging thing now, that I needed to start writing poetry again like I "used to do". However, in looking back at many of these poems (and I have lots & lots more to share from the vault), I have wondered if the inspiration is gone, or if I have changed so much that that kind of soft and connected meaning is not present in my life in the same way.

Or perhaps it's more a case of idealism. I am not as idealistic (or you could say as naive) as I used to be.. with age comes wisdom.. and/or cynicism. Lol.

Either way.. I'm still a "hopeful" romantic (somewhere deep down there inside) and perhaps one day I will find someone who will make this poem seem real again.. or I'll be inspired to write an even better one.

Blissful Sunday

The sounds of water draws me in
splashing all over your body
against the porcelain wall
skin slides against skin
luscious, seductive, searching,
complete.

Burning gentle touch
that reaches deep within
and caresses tenderly the
being that we are
The ache that ebbs away
with every moment, motion, thought
laughed, shared, dreamt,
dared.

Wrapping around, entwined
in softness, in sensation
in fascination and ecstasy
Changing, learning, reaching
grasping to hold on
on to me, on to you
onto a realm that
tickles at the back of my
mind.

Waking to find it still there
real, substantial.
As your hand on my
thigh and
the pulse at your throat
that entrances
- enhances the need to
touch
the desire to crawl
as close as we can inside.
And waking to find that
it’s Sunday.

~ Written: Summer 1996-ish (exact date unknown)
~ Copyright: Michelle L. Marcicki; 1996-2010