Monday, April 25, 2011


A crowded room
            conversations spilling out
                        along with cleavage
Eyes meet
            smoldering glances from afar
                        lashes lowered as blush spreads
Tongue tickles upturned lips
            in sensuous play
                        bottom lip captured in a pout
Maneuver clockwise
            lean closer
                        breath a whispered touch
Here and gone
            like smoke
                        before the fire

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Originally, I "flirted" with an idea for a poem that expressed how the writing process sometimes teases me. Obviously, the piece morphed into something different, yet the metaphor still exists.

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