Diana raab
Yearning
We just reunited here
in the city of our baby
boomer beginnings
in this bar which our
ancestors never knew.
Your face splattered
with past pains
and many misconceptions.
All I want to do is take you
into my olive skin arms
and embrace your agony.
You smile and ask
to hear my story and all I
yearn to do is touch
every part of you. Even though
you hold a shattered wine glass,
you grab my hand to put it there,
into the warm crevices of you.
You say you are a writer
and I await your love letters
and to share
the sound of birds chirping
outside your window.
I want to climb high mountains
with you and again sit inside
the cocoon of your steamy body parts,
one last time before we smooch
and nod good-bye one more time.
We just reunited here
in the city of our baby
boomer beginnings
in this bar which our
ancestors never knew.
Your face splattered
with past pains
and many misconceptions.
All I want to do is take you
into my olive skin arms
and embrace your agony.
You smile and ask
to hear my story and all I
yearn to do is touch
every part of you. Even though
you hold a shattered wine glass,
you grab my hand to put it there,
into the warm crevices of you.
You say you are a writer
and I await your love letters
and to share
the sound of birds chirping
outside your window.
I want to climb high mountains
with you and again sit inside
the cocoon of your steamy body parts,
one last time before we smooch
and nod good-bye one more time.