Charlotte Mae


The Morning Light

The morning light
crawls across my face,
caressing it like a gentle kiss.
Thoughts of you overwhelm my mind
leaving me in tangles.

I find your message on my phone.
A poem.
As I read,
I bask in the warmth
of your prose,
being bathed in its beauty.
Though the words are not for me,
the desire wells inside me
to be the muse to your art,
to shape your imagination
in the form of my body.

How I long to touch your face.
For your fingers to softly graze
my cheek as your gaze
slowly suffocates me.
To feel the pressure of your mouth
against mine until
my every thought
is reduced to ash
from the fire
that engulfs me.
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