I started to think about love poetry. And then I started to think about how long it had been since I'd really written a poem. And then I was depressed because it's sad that I don't take the time to be poetic. So, to jump start myself I wrote a poem. Not traditional, not structured, not rhyming, not flowing, not amazing. Just a step in the right direction. Besides, I have all the inspiration I need for such things... I married the guy.
i am sitting, legs pulled up in front of me so that my chin can rest on my knees, and i am carelessly admiring the shine of my skin in the late afternoon light, and the pinkness of my toenails, and the dimples on the insides of my ankles. you trace the outline of my feet with your toes, hoping for my giggle, my twitch and my retaliation. there is a bed in the corner that is not yet ours, but yours, and it is unmade. that is your childishness showing, the unmade bed and the Leggos and the fifteen empty glasses that once were full and never quite made their way back downstairs to be washed. today i have used the excuse of summer to bare much of my skin. it is all for you, every pale, elastic, freckled inch. that birth mark in the middle of my back is yours, too, but you haven't seen it yet. soon. i know without looking at you that you are looking at me, at the pink tint of my shoulders and the scooped neckline of my tank top, at my sloping clavicle, my neck, the soft secrets of my earlobes. you are noticing all sorts of little things about me that you've never noticed about anyone else before. my eyes, you note, are many-colored, and my eyelashes are dark and long, and then you are thinking of that game we play when i blink and grace your neck with my eyelashes, a blissful game in which everyone wins. my tongue. this is a game, too, this temptation. i find ways to touch you, rubbing your shoulders and playing with your fingers, everything that is innocent. you are sitting with me, and i am sitting with my legs on either side of you in a playful pose that is more womanly than i am used to, but still all in fun. our deep dip into love hasn't happened, though we are skirting the edges in a sort of blatant way. in just a few days, you will know that you want to marry me, and i will know sooner than that, in the way that girls just know. for now, though, we are sitting on the floor, on the warm white carpet in your bedroom, making a date for dinner, perhaps a movie, or ice cream, or kissing. on second thought, just kissing. and while my kiss is warm and affectionate, and your kiss is tender and a strong hint at our destiny, it is not our kisses that make us love. i tap dance my fingertips up your arm and gently touch your chin, nose, forehead, cheek, chin, cheek, forehead, nose. you allow yourself to be delighted. i am your delight. you are my soul mate. and in that fading pink light of early evening etched with long shadows, we invite the night. you carelessly admire the softness of the skin on my calves, tickling me behind my knee. this is new love.
- Audrey Camp, 2006