… bang in the middle of the day
I wait for those words, lurking
Just there. Just there.
Where I cannot reach.
They came, with the waking moment.
That moment, when you are, and you aren’t.
That moment, when clarity strikes.
And fuzzy warmth of slow recognition
I reached out. Too late…
Like petulant children, they shied away.
That moment is when they wanted me.
Not two ticks later.
So here, in the middle of the day
I sit. I yearn. I plead. I know though
They won’t surface now.
I also know when they will. 🙂
Not now. But at that moment,
When I turn away, peeking like those
Perky persistently playful creatures they are.
Not words. Not anymore.
They’ve grown beyond that
Into a yearning. Into a secret pleasure.
I don’t know the story yet.
Or the ending.
All I have, are these tingles
These feathery-touch-me-softly promises
… They ought to.
They will, won’t they?
14 February, 2013
Google images brought me to this pic. … from this place:
The picture belongs to its creator there.