Eric M. Petit

These Small Things of Us

 

I fell asleep with the soft sound of you in my ears,

The little quiet sound of sighs, your whispered words,

The smooth sound of each breath upon my chest.

I lay there for hours, wrapped in deep darkness,

Listening to the silence ebb and flow around us,

Little currents in the black pool of night.

I am happy in these small things of you, these moments,

The little drum of your heart against my hand,

The rise and fall of your breasts, gentle, intoxicating,

Your wild hair fallen across shoulders and neck.

I love these small things, these soft and lovely things.

I watch you long into sleep’s quiet void,

A guest in the dark, silent house of night,

Like a child sitting up long after bedtime I kept watch,

Wrapped in the magic of you like a cloak.

You shivered and turned, sliding closer, deeper into me,

Deeper into my flesh, deeper into this pulsing heart,

Seeking me in the night, in the dream, finding me,

Your skin gathering starlight, gently returning,

A deep pool at midnight, smooth and reflecting.

We shared the little warmth between us,

Passing it back and forth in the darkness,

I am happy in this moment, this sharing of things,

This finding and seeking, this press of flesh and hearts,

Like hands stretched to gather the fire light,

Or faces turned toward the strong sun of spring.

I hold and savor this small moment of us,

Turning it about in my hands, touching the pulse of it.

Feeling it, holding and returning again and again.

Each small moment treasured and sacred,

The silence between words, eyes so full of love and desire,

So full of the dreaming of dreams, the intimate connecting of us,

Passing hearts back and forth like warmth between us.

The cup shared between lovers in the night,

Drinking, sharing, drinking and sharing, never empty, always filling,

Filling and giving these small things, these moments, these gifts,

Each so small and lovely, each speaking volumes.

Tender shoots grasping the sun, the earth,

Needing, grasping, pulling both into its small desire,

Single blades in an ocean of rippling, green waves.

I am happy in these little things of us, these small moments,

I am happy in you, lying there in the darkness,

Your small sighs and whispered words,

Your wild hair and smooth starlight skin,

The light and heat, the little burning pulse of you.

I am happy and satisfied and full.

 

Eric M. Petit