Gossamer touches

Feeling the space, breathing upon a windowpane of pleasure.
Your lips, only an exhale away.
Trapped in a falling dream on golden gossamer thread.
Sticking to me like a forgotten memory.
Lost in the centre of your eyes.
Rush warm sensation.
Mouths intertwined.
A lover’s reflection.
Strung up like dew in the morning light.
Melt me into sunshine with a touch of your skin.
Breathe from within.
Slipping out of my soul while you sleep.
To kneel before the creator, and thank him for your existence.
Here on earth. Here next to me.
Underneath my skin and painting pictures in my mind.
A masterpiece, dripped on a canvas threaded with our DNA.
The brush strokes of the age. The hand of God, guiding our bones.
As we tread through our museum of moments.
We, the only tourist in our time; seeking grand adventure.
Purposely getting lost.

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8 thoughts on “Gossamer touches

  1. toe tingling good especially the “windowpane of pleasure” – i like looking at windows and how each pane tells a little story about the night that passed by – you captured that here so beautifully.

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      • windows, doors, mirrors, we use such beautiful metaphors in this language, I like that – a peek through windows, reminds of walking at night and looking at what people are up to at dinner time. Makes me less lonely sometimes.

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      • i used to do that when i traveled by train, but not so much these days, and hide behind my book or magazine and watch people. and my favourite place to look in through windows was in NZ – most homes had huge glass windows and the dim lights in the homes in the evening as I took my walk let me into some warmth. I liked seeing the activity, never stopped to stare, just feeling life happen inside those homes.

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