I Want to Make Love on Sunday Afternoon

“Poetry, beauty, romance, love…these are what we stay alive for.” John Keating, Dead Poet’s Society

“Carpe diem, seize the day. Gather rosebuds while ye may.” John Keating, Dead Poet’s Society

“I want to make love on Sunday afternoon. Not to just anyone, but the one. The one I fall in love with over and over again, every day, eight days a week. Yes, eight, for I will give birth to another day of the week for you, so that I will have more days in which to love you. I, the Eve of your desire, crave your love today, tomorrow, every day.” –Rosalind Guy

Your eyes are knives of desire

carving me up, opening me up

so you can pour your

illegitimate love inside me.

Fill me up with it.

Do not be fooled by the

hesitancy you see in my eyes.

I desire you. I invite you

to peel back my layers

and reveal what I’ve been

withholding from you. Fear

kept parts of me shrouded so

I never showed you how my

rivers flow for you.

Caress me with your eyes.

Finger my soul, open it

as if though it were the

opening of my sex accepting you.

Fully. Washing me over in waves,

a desire to know you like no other.

I tremble. I shudder with anticipation

awaiting one single touch from you.

I want you to shove your lies deep

inside me, deposit the seed of a love

that can never be allowed to grow.

Somehow you already know

the danger of becoming addicted,

don’t want to get high off my love

become addicted to my touch.

I’ll always be here to supply you

so let go. Allow your fingers to leave

a message along my spine,

tell me you’ll always be mine

even if you don’t mean it.

Tentatively, I take a step toward you,

pushed by a desire to dip my finger

in the river of your existence.

I need to cause ripples of desire to

travel full circle to put out the fire

racing through my body as I think

about how it will feel to swallow all

of you.

As we prepare to make love, I beseech you

to place dead flowers in my hair.

The scent of nature’s death will be

overshadowed by the vibrations of our

still life of love.

I offer you my universe

in exchange for one kiss

from you. I want to taste

the flowers on your lips. And I will drink

until I am drunk on your love.

I offer you all of my loves for your

inebriation too. Get drunk with me.

I won’t take no for an answer.

The world began with a kiss, shared,

a secret desire whispered as your fingers

played with my soul. Bring me the sun

of your lips once more and I will drink

in the rays and never forget how you taste.

This is just the beginning. We will not stop

until all our cravings have been satiated.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind