Fierce  Longing


There are moments

when making love

when a door

to something else


I am never prepared.

There is no preparation

for the way it takes me

and leaves me.


Sometimes it is brought

by a movement of tenderness:

soft lips that brush my forehead

and murmur my name

as the fire burns through

me making

my hips rise

and my blood moan.


Sometimes it is brought

by a moment of great courage:

eyes that dare to meet

and hold mine as the flood

of silky amber honey

takes us both over the edge.


And sometimes

it is brought

by the sting of what is not

and the memory of

tenderness and courage

that has been.


And when that moment

catches me

and tosses me

I am helpless.

The words spill


into the night:

"I want ... I want ... I want..."



they leave me


suspended over the chasm

of my own bottomless





for that fleeting something

I glimpsed

or imagined

just beyond.


Gone before

I could name it.


The breath catches

a strangled sob

tears me

opens me

and I fall back

eyes wide and


on damp pillows

my face

wet with tears.


And his eyes



frightened by the fierceness

of my longing.


Oriah ©1995

© 2013 - 2021 Connie Mazur - tous droits réservés

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