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Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Randomness By poetic guest NavyPoet



The cotton sheet grazes
Emboldened peaks
Sweet juice drips
On collarbones
Drops that slip past
A tongue raked over
Sticky hands
It is not done this thing
This closed eye savoring
Of newly made memories
Lips sipping on smells
That defy tasted skin
And then there is you
Resting on open palms
Stabilizing the breath
That threatens to burst
From the exertion
Heartbeats slow words
Until they are no longer necessary
In the raw humidity of
The moments passing
We enjoy the echoed music
Of the evening 
NavyPoet © 9-11–2014

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