Thursday, August 20, 2015

a familiar fear.

I don't see your eyes often
they're big, dark, intimidating pools filled with the might and sadness of a weathered woman
with a brow lowered to see past the glare of spoken words and promiscuous lips. 

so I greet your back
shoulders strong and articulated, resembling the rolling hills of our basin
ink brands and great bands of flexing muscles with drainages cut by small streams of sweat
shadows cast and move along the divides as our bodies meet and pull apart in the flickering light.

sometimes I whisper endearments to your bruised neck
with the reward of warm thighs wrapped round ears and a taste that welcomes a talented tongue

a love is sung by two wandering souls
a duet of moans and awkward statements
with laments of passed parents and those who would abuse these tones

I don't want to let go.

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