by Ghentry Hunter ©1998

For impressions of such, I breathe;
Your face, your smile,
Your soft inhales, your voice,
And I have little choice
But to feel the weakness,
The enforced meekness
That straps my belly to the wheel,
Spinning,
Aloft, and dreaming
Of the day when
Ocean waves spray our faces
And sunsets dry them.
No more races,
Unknown places,
No tired scenes of held back means,
Or halted embraces.
Our souls meet
That day:
What one will say,
Is now known.

Click here, on "Night Calls," for another poem.