Love Burns Cold
She stood on tiptoe ...
her hair knot, now unpinned, softly burst,
tawny, gold-streaked tresses tumbling down her shapely form,
coming to sassy rest upon her rounded backside,
and on the cool of his hand, 'bout her waist.
His deft index and middle fingers
twirled her tanzanite and rhenium hair pin,
pinky finger tugging suggestively at her belt,
while his other hand attended to the buttons of her blouse,
its soft cashmere sliding off her softer shoulders,
(like azure slides off a pink sky at dusk).
She stretched her neck to reach ...
her supple chili pepper lips
pressing against cool steel and biofibre,
eyes once again searching for the spark in his -
perfectly-shaped, bright baby blue irises,
shuttering with robotic precision,
the coal black pupils reflecting positronic energy
deep in their unnatural recesses.
She loved him dearly ... in her way -
had compromised a great deal just to get here -
to this place of caring-yet-cautiously-cold cooperation,
miraculous metal and the fairest flesh
bared and bound to each other.
They were, by all standards, happy and passionate and vital,
yet it was just that - a spark in his eyes -
that she longed for most,
that she dreamed of and questioned,
that she dreaded, deep-down ...
She might never see.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select 6, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
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