deepundergroundpoetry.com
Supine ruminations
It was that day:
When you told me my
stomach was your safe place.
It was that day.
I looked down, sick with desire,
straining against your attention
as, with eyes closed,
you reverently
kissed the lines
on my
abdomen,
and, almost in earnest,
rubbed your cheek against the
slight dip at my naval,
your arms wrapped all the way
around my body,
my back slightly arched under
your arms.
In that one moment we were still.
It was then I knew I was really fucked.
Because in the stillness,
I traced your face with my fingertips,
ran my hands through your hair
and fought the urge to
hide you from the world,
just for a moment.
As if you were the vulnerable one,
as if I could shield you.
When I look back on that day,
part of me is still again,
poetically stricken by the overwhelming emotions,
the futility of those soft feelings,
and enraptured by that moment
which captured me forever.
And part of me looks back
and screams...
run.
When you told me my
stomach was your safe place.
It was that day.
I looked down, sick with desire,
straining against your attention
as, with eyes closed,
you reverently
kissed the lines
on my
abdomen,
and, almost in earnest,
rubbed your cheek against the
slight dip at my naval,
your arms wrapped all the way
around my body,
my back slightly arched under
your arms.
In that one moment we were still.
It was then I knew I was really fucked.
Because in the stillness,
I traced your face with my fingertips,
ran my hands through your hair
and fought the urge to
hide you from the world,
just for a moment.
As if you were the vulnerable one,
as if I could shield you.
When I look back on that day,
part of me is still again,
poetically stricken by the overwhelming emotions,
the futility of those soft feelings,
and enraptured by that moment
which captured me forever.
And part of me looks back
and screams...
run.
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