Blog Dis
Capricious
2024-05-27
He has the lightest touch of whimsy
where his hand rests and gathers,
the sensations of my body.
My pulse is for him.
I absorb his hour of dreamy flesh
of wanton need, alive
I am for him, to tremble
over his scent.
I cannot account for the seconds.
Where do they go? Oh so gloriously,
are these moments with him.
We evaporate in the night.
where his hand rests and gathers,
the sensations of my body.
My pulse is for him.
I absorb his hour of dreamy flesh
of wanton need, alive
I am for him, to tremble
over his scent.
I cannot account for the seconds.
Where do they go? Oh so gloriously,
are these moments with him.
We evaporate in the night.
