I turned to wipe the tear
           off his cheek
               and traced 
            vicious slowness, stroking
down the line of his jaw.
        He breathed in his anger,
his want,
                and I drew my finger
lighter than the breeze
along his lips,
                       the moist desire.
 Parted them to the
fire of his passion,
                       so barely restrained.
                And I wanted to kiss him.
Leaned forward to
      fill my stomach with
  his scent,
                     to know him forever
     in the light,
                              in the dark.
The stranger that fate sent me.
           Bit my lip to keep from
                     as I caressed his neck.
            He burned into
              me with eyes ablaze.
Love and hate
          the line so fine that we
     cannot see it when we
              step over.
                                  Touched his neck,
                            tasting him,
                         drinking him in.
          The pulse of his life
                              a butterfly beneath my tongue.
At last, at last,
                          he kissed me.

(August 25, 2005)


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