Still vivid is,
the taste of salt upon lips that part
As you and I lay in bed.
Your tongue only spoke of my skin that night
Hungry as savage beasts,
hungry only for words of my flesh.
Your fingers were only fingers before that night
And I used my mouth
to listen to the beats of your body.
Still vivid is,
the rhythm of wet silence
that we both slowdanced to.
But morning came
And I knew,
once again, that I
was alone in that memory.
