His essence slowly fills my mind,
His touch lifts me to rapture.
His eyes burn, and melt.
This is heaven.
His strength weakens me,
Desire overwhelming with demand.
He is substance, and scent, and flavor.
He embraces me.
Shrouded by his heat,
His fire brands my soul,
His insatiable hunger,
Gorging on me.
Quiet now, we lie entwined,
Rough hands roam luxuriously on my skin.
Exquisite release our gift.
He is mine.
A little girl lived with unspoken dreams,
Others expectations met first.
Escape at eighteen, desires anticipated.
Now it is my turn.
What do I do to find my life?
This is your life, they say.
Finish school; find a job; get married; have kids.
Ok, done – now is it my turn?
The kids need shoes and lessons,
The car and roof need repairs.
My husband starts his own business.
When is it my turn?
The kids are grown, the house paid off,
The business is a success.
My hair is gray, my reflection unfamiliar.
Now is it my turn?
My children all have children.
I still wait for someday to come.
My family all say they love their life.
What about my life – when is it my turn?
My time has ended, the light grows dark,
My voice silenced, I sink to oblivion.
One final thought my last link to this earth –
Why was it never my turn?
Don’t wait for permission to live your life.