A Photograph

It’s hard to taste your lips, from just a photograph,
or imagine how your eyes would dance, when you would laugh.
I wonder how your breasts would feel, crushed to my chest,
your head upon my shoulder, breathing your behest.

To gently slip that robe off, leaving shoulders bare
and watch your knowing smile, as I just stand and stare.
To feel your hand upon my cheek, electrify;
Knowing that a storm will rage for you and I

To take you in my arms and wanting just to sate,
while, floating on our longings in the sea of fate.
and laying down beside you, better to explore;
giving everything and yet, receiving more.

Your scent, when passion grips you in a gasping rush
and spills across my loins in one more seeded gush.
The whispered secrets, shared upon a lovers sheet,
in tangled limbs, and shadows, where two bodies meet.

But my imagination, runs away with me;
I dream and want for things, which I know cannot be.
And it could well be written, as my epitaph;
The lips he longed to taste, were just a photograph.

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