The Look
They have the look of lovers-
It is the tenderness of his tone when he tells of her
It is his fingertips trailing the curve of her bare shoulder
And lingering along her arm and
The small of her back-
It is in the rush
of color to her cheeks, the blush
And twist of her lips, the roll
and thrust of her hips when
She knows he is there-
It is the ripple and toss
Of her hair, it is the loss
Of his breath in her sighs
It is the touching of their eyes-
It is the sibylline heat
Of the words they don't speak
It is the rough of his hands claiming her skin
It is the line of her neck, the lift of her chin
It is his obsession to say her name again
And again, and again-
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