Our Temporary Universe
On those days when we lie together—
me on your barely shaven chest
sprawled upon the hotel’s crisp white sheets
with our legs snaked around one another,
I feel our universes woven together
beneath the skirt of my life
and sunken into the ethers you and I share
during our effervescent moments together.
We get lost in our sense of euphoria
mingled within our after-sex delight
pushing away our own personal boundaries.
All this, right up until the moment I turn my head
towards yours, fingering
your salt and pepper flecks upon our pillow
and during that window of ten minutes
after love-making, and pose the question
every woman wants to know
during the moment when we are one.
You gently place a kiss upon my forehead
and firmly squeeze my right deltoid
referencing my rhetorical question,
all the while your kisses arrive in buckets
suspended from the silken blue skies above,
as I feel our hearts beating as one
while time snakes ever so slowly
around the temporary universe we have created
right there, in the cusp of our hearts
held firmly in both of our hands.
Nestled
Tonight I think about how
I need to nestle in your arms
to think about nothing but us—
the vibrational energy
and kisses which span the miles,
whisper words of unconditional adoration
under shooting stars and icicles
melting from Canadian roofs.
I ask what you like about me
and take a deep breath waiting for an answer
but because you send silence,
I transcend into a world leaving me
empty and alone.
Tantric Acquaintance
Did you know your name is written across the blank whiteness of my page,
a quiet reminder of the magical entry you made into my life in that highway coffee shop
where our eyes linked as I marched behind a row of java hunters, while no one else existed on
my mission to the table which held you reading that sexy novella
with the nude woman on the front, upright in your paternal prowess, black jacket and ribbon of
kindness in gestures under your neckline as you stood upon
my arrival, a greeting rarely performed by a twenty-first century man. I figured
you were properly raised in the hills of France, goats in one hand and a bottle
of Burgundy in the other as without hesitation and probably without your knowing, you quickly
pierced and piqued my psyche in a way you could never take back
as without you knowing I jammed that moment into my designer purse
slung on that coffee shop chair and then after sipping java I stared into your
brilliant blue eyes wondering if you were the man of dreams or of the imagination I am accused
while all the passerbys held on right beside your six foot frame as I wondered if you really
read the words in that book while I dove into your arms, the ones which tangled me in their
desire inside the magical encounter in our very veneered world.
Diana Raab, MFA, PhD, is a memoirist, poet, speaker, and award-winning author of fourteen books of poetry and nonfiction. Her writings have been published and anthologized worldwide. Her latest book is HUMMINGBIRD: MESSAGES FROM MY ANCESTORS. (Modern History Press, January 2024). She writes for Psychology Today, The Wisdom Daily, and Thrive Global and is a guest writer for many others. Visit her at: dianaraab.com // Instagram: @dianaraab
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