The Clock Strikes Three
The sound of an old clock,
The rhythm of the pendulum,
The striking of a tiny hammer
Against a metal coil.
The lonely hours after midnight.
The memory of your touch,
Warm,
Gentle, yet firm,
Hungry.
You penetrate my soul.
The clock strikes three.
I am wide awake with longing
For your fingers on my skin.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
No Longer Young
In moments of great pain
I think of you so young,
The first time our unclothed bodies touched,
Pressed and rubbed together
In the satin sea of my small bed,
A secret in my parents’ house.
It was the first time I felt
The length, the breadth, the depth,
The full measure of myself,
Alive, awake and rippling through every pore.
Look, look what time has done!
I awoke this morning,
No longer young.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
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