you pour
me a cup of you
beneath
the moonlight.
silk is not as
soft as your
shoulder, or
the light coming
in as white,
like milk
as your skin.
you fold yourself
into me,
and the pink
glow of desire
rises, lights
a soft fire.
we are above the
earth, at least
for now.
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1 comment:
When you become famous, albeit perhaps posthumously, I'm sure this one will be in one of the most popular collections.
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