the breach of something unspoken
and lain upon a pivot fixed with rust
is euphonized by her sighing.
his bare back against the cool
of an unmade bed is wrought
with a tantrum of shivers. she sighs again.
fallen from some higher moral ground
they both lie like angels in a pool
of sin and feathers and sweat and wait
for the right moment to breach another.
2 comments:
do you want it to be about pre-marital sex?
for this poem, yeah, i'm that type. mostly because, for me, this poem is about sounds and flashes of images. there's no mission behind it, not for me anyway. but read into it what you wish.
Post a Comment