hope

this window is just
the idea of sky

in the same way hands
merely suggest caress

human hearts imagine
more than what is given

this ceaseless
invocation is hope

and is the reason for
so many moon songs

© Sarah Whiteley

*

tangled in the lines
drawn by your lips –
bursting red,
and wild as flowers

I savor the grace
of your hands –
I am as slow
as honey in them,
and as sweet

© Sarah Whiteley

otherwise occupied

I’ve discovered a trail
between the indented kiss
of your right clavicle
and the contour of your chest
that invites the dusty curl
of light from between Sunday
morning blinds – it begs
to be photographed,
but always my hands
are otherwise occupied

© Sarah Whiteley

missed opportunity

I wish I had known
the tilt of you
and the demands
your hands
never hinted
I would not then
have so moderated
the bent of me
to you

© Sarah Whiteley