Days act madly, one to another. No sleep, no contemplation of senses.
A blue slur appears momentarily between the hurricanes edges.
Just before the eye closes in yet another tease, you walk by.
Not real, to the sane and rested. Only I could see you standing amongst the fog.
The aroma of oranges and spice was unmistakable.
Preoccupied and deprived, I spent those few precious seconds taking in the maleness of you.
Black curls like a woman’s lustful fingers, sensual along your face and I was jealous.
Then midst the war of weary, you touched me.
A caress across the back of my hand, curling your little finger around mine, golden eye to black, a wink and a smile.
No lips moved though I heard the three words only an illusion could produce in a seduction in the haze.
Frozen within the throes of fantasy.
An insomniac cloaked in a state of grief and misunderstanding of how and why you left.
Whatever the course and reason, however I pay the price, the only thing I’m sure of,
You touched me in oranges and spice.