I Dream of You

I dream of you
coming home to me.
Tired but seeking
solace in my skin.
Feel firm hands
seek my curves.
Explore why I am
the feminine.
You the masculine.
Your scruffy chin
scrapes my neck.
I hear you inhale
my perfume.
Without hello I turn.
Nothing else matters.
The day past disappears.

Unknown

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Stars in their jars

I crave you

the way people crave

the clouds in their mouth

and stars in their

jars

and waves in their

ears

and hope in their

heart:

hopelessly.

Unknown 
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The balance shifted

“Everything about him enveloped her, made her crave exactly this. His possession. In her mind something relaxed; the balance shifted. She welcomed every way he could touch her, the heat from his body, the atoms of his breath. Everything.” 

― Cari Silverwood,
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Body of a Woman

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Here you are, still
Reposed behind glass
Like a work of art. Yes,
Body of precious aloneness,
There are times I desire you
In a lover’s arms. Sometimes
I want you making fierce love,
With moans like thought bubbles
Of pleasure forever in Pompeii’s
Lava & ash. Yet, other nights,
As Miles Davis plays ballads
In the background, like tonight,
There’s only irony: I see
You’re gazing out toward
The House of the Faun,
Waiting for someone.

Yusef Komunyakaa 

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Drink the sea

Making love with you is like drinking sea water. The more I drink the thirstier I become, until nothing can shake my thirst but to drink the entire sea.   ~Kenneth Rexroth

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” I give myself to you: My hunger, yours; my body, yours to consume; my lips, my mouth, my teeth, yours to put where you want them; my hair, my flesh, yours to cut, to tie, to pull, to enter; my every thought, yours to turn into words, yours to ink on your skin; yours… the length of me is yours to do with as you please.”

Unknown
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too close to her

But she knows she has curse on her
A curse she cannot win.
For if someone gets
Too close to her,

The pins stick farther in.

Tim Burton in The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories, 1997

Liquid measure

I crave your mouth,

your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving,

I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me,

dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure

of your

steps.

Pablo Neruda
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