That Kiss . . .
I can be yours, lover, but not at so easy a price
by Marsha E. Newman
Your scent inflames the part of my brain where sex dwells
Your touch electrifies and sends shivers across my flesh
I blush and goosebump as I gaze into you intensely-watching,
Waiting for the right moment to swoop down and claim you as my own. A chaste cheek kiss will not do; a quick lip kiss fails to satisfy.
So when will our lips meet and linger, parting flesh, opening the
warmth, the wetness, the hot desire that burns within? In yesteryear, the ache was so intense it parched my very soul.
I emerged burnt, charred ashes, doubting my own femininity,
Doubting desirability to anyone, much less you. But like the phoenix I was reborn: to slake my desires in the
arms of another, in a foreign city, no ties, only lies and stolen
kisses all over the scorched earth of my body. The volcano
erupted for the wrong one, for as I feasted, eyes closed, it
Was only you I saw in my mind's eye and my ardent response
Was only for you, sweetness of my soul and my dreams. You must do more unequivocally for me to rise again as a panting,
Sweet, spectacled spring flower lovingly in bloom. You must
Reveal your true self unfurled in splendor upon the tuxedo
Spread out on my silk sheets, waiting lovingly for that kiss
That turns despair to joy and ashes to fire again.