Fleeting fantasies

The small of my back curves
in roasted cinnamon scents
as if suspended 
on the breath of unhurried kisses
dancing with dalliance 
from wrist to throat
fluent in the language of my skin
fingers inscribing every piece of you 
into the dreaming hours

Yet love 
was like a light flurry of snow 
never deep enough to lay new paths
evanescent promises
dissolved the pages of my heart 
into mere tracing paper
folding myself into Gordian knots 
that would never unravel

By Sarah Allatt, © 2015, All rights reserved.