Your smoke wafts and hums and settles,
Serenely unbarring the tale of the lips that made it.
Scarlet, parting, like turning away
From a lover’s gaze that used to be his.
[Thus we move on to the anatomy of sex]
The sounds of souls affectionate,
Your hand on my behind, your fingers insistent,
Etched in memory, those chiseled chest in dreams persistent.
The very bed quivers with grinding, pulsating, aching hips,
Tighter, legs clasp, leaving nothing for the sun,
Until I clutch your hair and you buckle in wild abandon,
And face now gone, like the wafting smoke
the night before.
Turtle's Nest
Jelly
Taking advantage of the rare books
Dyan at the Terraces Ayala
3 comments:
Who wrote that poem? If it's you, then you must be greatly inspired by "something" hahaha :p And that dress looks familiar... Did I see that somewhere before? ;)
you helped me pick it out.:b
and the poem was a shared effort. and apparently, when you're full slightly inebriated, and attempt to write a shared poem, that "something" is the first thing that comes to mind.
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