Fingerprints of Time: A Treasured Collection of Writing

Dreams of you pour over me like a sensual merlot.
Like an agent provocateur, my breath whispers your name.
Memories from our one night together ignite my imagination.
Your skin was soft like silk and satin; the perfect canvas for me to become an artist.
I can still taste the sweetness and velvety texture of your lips.
The smell of rain-kissed flowers on your skin.
The rhythm of our hearts beating as one.
The power of the symphony we composed.
I long to once again get drunk off your lips and feel the unspoken words of our bodies.
My lips begin to form every letter from the poem you inspire.
Temptation realized. I lay you down and your anticipation builds as my tongue begins its recital.
Breathing in sync our bodies rise and fall as one.
I moisten the tips of my fingers and thread the eye of the needle with the fabric of our souls.
Weaving a blanket of crushed velvet that surrounds us.
Your nails lightly graze my skin. Leaving a faint mark that vanishes like the tide sweeping onto the beach to cleanse the sands.
The combination of power, grace and finesse in the dance we share
causes your every movement to become more daring and sultry.
I am completely intoxicated by your femininity.
The purity of the moment is like the reflection off glacial waters.
Our bodies combine to become a solitary shadow.
Floating above the heavens; our passion illuminates the moon and stars.
You place your hand in mine and we continue our journey on the astral plane.

By Chris Krawchuk