I am not interested in fast love
in this world which moves at the speed
of alarm clocks and bullet trains.
I desire to be unhurried;
idle summer and vinyl reminiscence,
where the only measure of time is
the count of your pulse; my breath.
Love me not with haste, but
make me wane with anticipation
until my skin is parched, then
soak red-wine kisses
into every pore,
slowly,
so I am still drunk when the dawn arrives.
Unearth me with deliberate fingers;
count every rib, memorise every slope
and surge,
work your hands through the dark soil
of my body, leave nowhere unturned.
Tell me stories of days before we met
while I fall in love with the sound
of your voice whispered against my neck.
Love me with the music of Sunday morning lovers,
adagio;
carve symphonies of desire into my bones
before time takes from us once more.
Love me with the illusion of forever
pressed between our mouths,
for I have grown so distant of this life
filled with fast promise and pretence,
that all I desire is to be loved
long enough
to feel it.
~ ©️ Kathy Parker ~