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,
so I am still drunk when the dawn arrives.
Unearth me with deliberate fingers;
count every rib, memorise every slope
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,
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
to feel it.
~ ©️ Kathy Parker ~