In The Void Of This Quiet

Dead of night,
Lying awake.

Utter calm.

Darkness so deep,
That it robs my eyes of usefulness.

Quiet,
So empty,
That I hear my heart beating,
Pulsing,
Rhythmically,
As if a rich drumbeat
In this secluded room
Of my nighttime making.

Yet,
In this emptiness,
I find…

A contradictory,
Deeply satisfying,
Fullness.

In the void of this quiet,
My unseeing eyes
Paint in my mind,
The perfect portrait
Of you,

Luxurious, sensual, rich,
In a panoply of colors.

In the void of this quiet,
My ears feel your whisper,
As a gentle,
Moist exhalation,
Conveying everything
That mere words
Cannot.

In the void of this quiet,
My skin fantasizes
About the silken touch,
Ever-so-gentle,
As your finger tip draws
A line of invitation
Across my chest.

In this not-so-sensory-deprived
Moment,

Physically alone,
I find myself,
Totally with you,
Awash,
In your grace,
And grandeur…

Deeply,
Embraced,
With your spirit.

Richly described,
Richly conveyed,
Richly touching me….

Softly.

All…

In the void of this quiet.

 

 

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

2 thoughts on “In The Void Of This Quiet

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