Poems
Poems of Antiquity
Short stories
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You're much too beautiful
for my own good
I think of you
when I should be
working on my life
you're nearby (just miles away)
yet closer to my heart than
my lungs
my mind
has probably breathed
the very same air.
Where should we kiss,
your lips or mine?
my fingers ache to touch them
silhouetted by lamplight
my stomach twitches
my arm shakes
over you
I look down into your eyes
and, gently cursing, realize
you're much too beautiful
for my own good.