Half Drunk Muse Poetry


Untitled; September 2000 by K. D. Harris

One winter night in stark moonlight, I strolled among the strands
Of tapestry spun just for me and fell into your hands.
A flush of heat from head to feet crept across my skin;
With worded ease, your fingers teased me over and again.
At first light - the end of night (a thousand miles apart) -
I crawled in bed, laid down my head, and you crawled in my heart.

Each passing night, from dark to light, I searched among the linen
Until my fingers slowed to linger and my head was spinning.
A spinning dance by random chance sent ‘cross the tangled wires
Has captivated and paraded fuel to fan the fires.
Not one past touch has quite so much been able to compare;
Still, every morning at the dawning, I alone was there.

Until this twilight, in the pale light, I search your eyes and face:
Slip off my dress, reveal my breasts, offer you a taste.
At your first peek, my knees go weak, and I begin to ache.
My nightly dream turned real; it seems I finally am awake.
I strip bare, then linger here for your private feast—
Your love-struck eyes stare mesmerized, savoring each piece.

View bio for K. D. Harris Published in All Poems 1999-2004

About HDM

Half Drunk Muse was one of the first poetry ezines. It was founded in 1999 and ceased publication in 2006.

Questions/comments? Email samiller@halfdrunkmuse.com.