that tacit golden haze whips around
wisps of hazel locks falling behind
your shoulders
it drips and by moment floods the room
where moonlight spills and mixes with
the low lamp glow
grazing, glancing
lips light on hand tops and your neck, a
skim of touch, brush strokes on
a bare arm and crossed legs
Indian style above the sheets
eye lids slipping closed in that
rare humidity
that ease, that
untaught comfort in quietude
of what skin on skin
where shadows lap, wrap
front, back
now touch, lean, tire, sink
whisper nothing
love is in the breath
About the Creator
greg sorensen
i like to let words go
one at a time
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Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmas4 days ago in Horror
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