in Erotic Poetry, poetry 193 Words

Hands in my hair

Don't cry, little girl. by laura-makabresku via DeviantArt.com
Don’t cry, little girl. by laura-makabresku via DeviantArt.com

I stand, staring at you.
Punishing you with my eyes.

But I cannot look directly at you, not for long.

My fingers betray me, reaching out to you. To rake softly through that lovely beard. To skim tenderly over those sweet lips. To magnetize you, so desperate to wake the beast within.

So he might fight with me.
So he might frighten me.
So he might fuck me.

You stand motionless. Frozen. Like a dream.

My mind and heart, they’re arguing. Fighting the facts, and memorizing the ache that bears your name. That hurt fuels my magic and beckons me to look up. Look again. Look at you.

I swim in the crystal depth of those pale, sad eyes.

My mind quiets,
My heart stops,
My body lightens…
And I feel

Your hands in my hair.
Where they are meant to be.

Your breath on my skin.
Where it is meant to be.

Your lips on my forehead.
Where they are meant to be.

Your hands.

In my hair.

Where they were meant to be, all along.

13 thoughts on “Hands in my hair”

  4. Nice! This so spoke to me… had a talk the other day with DH about needing to feel his fingers in my hair. “But I don’t want to mess it up… what if my hands are dirty?” he says. “DH, ALL women like to feel a man’s fingers in her hair…” I assured him. Especially now as I just had a Brazilian blow-out, and it is super soft and silky and TOUCHABLE!!!!

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