Waiting

Waiting

is not

what it

appears to be.

Waiting is not the

empty space,

the presence of absence,

the longing and yearning

of her place filled by

the being of her body

the void

devoid of any sense

whatsoever.

Waiting

for her is filled with the memories

of time spent together

the smell of her rose skin and sweetness of her voice

the mystery of her whispers in the dark

the embraces and kisses and caresses

shared

My arms

locked tight

around her torso

the way she likes me

our tongues pressing

to discuss the depth

of our love and passion

her heat sweating me to a puddle

Before she comes to my side, while she is underway

she is a fullness almost unbearable

an extension of myself to the furthest reaches

of the universe

pales

by her expansion of my very self to

the limits of loving.

Waiting

for her

is not a hollow

it is not a space of doubt and need

I wait for her in gratitude and will wait

until she seeks my hands again

ending our waiting.