Little Revolutions

It’s so sweet,

how you held my hand in yours

and I could tremble inside.

It was a basic touch.

Not at all very much,

but I could feel your warmth,

your fingers caress my hand

as I surrendered to the dreams of you

that night.

And a new revolution ticks over.

Begin again.

Brighter and stronger as a flame,

you are drawn to the light.

This cycle, I can feel your lips meet mine.

The gentle press of your mouth, slowly

quickening as of a new blaze.

It was a larger gift than I foresaw,

but it left me aching, desiring more.

We are both not left wanting at all.

Tick, and a new revolution greets me.

To begin again.

You cradle me in your arms,

tight and close and I never want to let go.

Feathery touches tracing my body,

up and down you caress,

as soft yet powerful as spider’s silk.

We kiss and it leaves us out of breath.

I’ve never wanted you like this before,

leaving me craving for what’s in store.

Before a revolution takes hold.

A fresh morning, a new start.

I seem to float beside you;

you leave me drifting after you,

a ghost still attached to its haunts.

You are still as warm and beautiful as I remember.

You still leave me laughing and my

soul singing like no one has before.

But it strips me down to the core,

waiting for a new revolution again.

These little revolutions.

New cycles happen all around us,

to us;

weaving, pulling, cleaving and breaking;

lifting, strengthening, soothing and exciting.

All these little revolutions.

*Artwork by Gustav Klimt- “The Kiss”*

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