Sunday, September 8, 2013


The poet Rumi said, “Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.”

I recite this line over and over in my head as you writhe and wait for me to finish these photos before we join our flesh.

You are in my lens as I aim the camera upon your form.

You are in my eye as you return my hungry gaze.

You are in my heart as I focus upon the tear forming at the corner of your eye.

You were in me long before we met, and I in you.

You perfect me now in our joining, soft meeting firm, sweet melting sharp.

Your image reveals what I am inside, the part of me that has always been you and yours.

Though I cannot fully satisfy my lust for you while I’m away, I capture your lusciousness here in my lens before embedding the taste of you on my tongue, the perfume of you in my nose, and feel of you on my skin.

I’ll be reminded by these photos of the man I can be, made better by you.

I’ll recall the better man I have become, the one in love with you.


Copyright © 2013 Femme Malheureuse
Words: 199
Originally submitted to Sinful Sunday—Week 47 via Rebecca Grace Allen
Photo prompt: origin unknown | Word prompt: lust

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