I don't know if I deserve today.
It was a calm Thursday afternoon
It was all sort of out of place,
We were bodies tangled,
Feeling each other,
My hand on his bare shoulder,
Our hands intertwined
His weight on me
Lips meeting
Eyes meeting,
Close your eyes.
Tired, then sudden energy
Passion and sweat,
Hot white pain and pleasure
And the light dims.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
