The Book of T.J.

There is more to this,

Than the salty passion.

More than my flesh-colored dreams.

More than the heat,

That follows every thought of you.

Passion fills my soul,

Fills the hours when you're away,

And the moments when you're here,

It's more than the thoughts,

Of tasting your crimson lips.

So much more than,

Feeling your hand in mine.

It is the upward turn of my lips,

When I duplicate your smile.

It is the boyish romance,

That wells inside me.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 22 2008 and is filed under Poetry.