Mood:
In my blue notebook
I ramble about things.
My mind wanders like the
scent of his room, I savor
the moment forgetting who I am.
Fingers laced through my hair,
stroked, caressed. I write this
down. Curtains whisper what went on.
I think about all those seductions,
nimble movements, the taste left in my
mouth the next morning.
There are no sighs, no false regrets,
knotted halos placed upon my headboard
cools the liquid heat left by him.
The aurora splashes across
his mind as he reads it. I am his blue notebook.