Tamara Stamenkovic
Poetry,  Written literature | Author's writings

The moment

That is a special moment,
the way she breaks her arms
only to hug me.
She destroys all doubts
entering my heart.
I hold her so close,
she can feel
my every heartbeat.
I have no more words
to tell her how
and what I feel.
The words are stray
inside her look.
They were lost
before they
got to leave
a mark on her heart.
She shivers, trying to get close,
even closer, so close.

She makes a big step,
letting me
hold her hand.
Her warm breath
touches my neck;
I dare not
to take a step,
I hold her so close,
just enough to feel
each without
walking towards her.
I won’t say a word,
neither will she, I know.
We are fascinated by magic,
we believe in it.
Even without talking,
we said so much.
It’s not all about words,
not everything is in the voice.

That is a special moment,
the way I fall in love
with her silence, the way
I understand her essence.
The moment where I fall
into the abyss of her soul.
Where I look for touches
instead of passing words.
Words will pass, but written ones
will stay on her body.
I write verses with my fingers
on her soft skin.
To remind her of mine
coarse cheekbones and palms
full of calluses from previous
wars and plans.
So that she knows she heals me,
to know she’s draining my emotions
from my heart into hers.

I’m making huge steps,
I’m reaching into the essence of her
being and I get to know her,
over and over again I find
lost pieces of her
and make a mosaic of them,
without fear of
what’s waiting for me,
without fear
from the scene expecting me.
I’m not a stranger.
I’m not a guest
to whom that place isn’t for him.
I belong to everything that carries
your name, everything where you are.
That is a special moment,
where I have no time
for plans, where my being
returns to normal.
The world is no longer black and white,
you brought back all my colors.
You put me together long before
I started assembling you.

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