Thursday, 10 November 2016

Feather

Hot, flushed, and wet,
the skein peeled away to reveal flesh and bone,
supply as midnight, smooth in silk,
the flowing rivers of your chest,
peaks and valleys of your neck,
"Surrender," she whispered in tender tones,
an angel's breath away.

Falling stars,
my stars, I'm falling.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Ahoy Thar Shipmaet! We be sailin' t3h failboat seas!