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Mistletoe


All I want for Christmas 
is to feel your touch, 
your skin pressed against mine 
as our lips gently brush.
 
To feel the air crackle and ignite 
from the heat building between us, 
underneath the mistletoe 
in the glow of the fire in the hearth.
 
To feel your arms slung round my neck 
as your eyes gaze deep into mine, 
and my hands grip just below your waist 
clinging as much to you as to the moment.
 
Silently the snow falls 
outside the window in gentle drifts, 
pantomiming our clothes 
as they meet the floor.
 
And the embers in the fireplace 
smolder and refused to die, 
pantomiming the love we share
and our desire for each other. 


 

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