If loving me differently <br />is the tight embrace of our thighs <br />the crescendo of kisses on necks and lips <br />breeze-like whispers of broken words <br />maddening moans melding memories, <br /> <br />If loving me differently <br />is like the warmth of morning sun <br />or the full moon of entwined bodies <br />tingling in a revisited terrain of touch <br />remembering desire’s familiar maps, <br /> <br />(while the clear nightsky peeps <br />through the open window that dares <br />the ears of slumbering neighbors) . <br /> <br />If loving me differently <br />is you lingering everywhere, here and there <br />and I caressing old memories of love <br />on your moistened brown skin <br />our eyes tracing the lines in our faces, <br /> <br />If loving me differently <br />is the feverish anticipation to ran the distance <br />between the days that madly click the hours <br />on our bodies, ticking like twinned clocks <br />waiting for the next knock on my door, <br /> <br />(and there are no promises <br />no tears, no farewells <br />no dates to forge or forget) . <br /> <br />Then love me these ways, as you say, so differently. <br /> <br />(2006)<br /><br />Aida Santos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/loving-differently/
