The Question Of A Kiss

08 Sep


She always closes her eyes
when she kisses me at night,
searching the pallor of my flesh,
her lips find perfect contour
to place the swell of her ardor;
she melds her silken mouth,
with great fervor and intent,
upon my cheek, I then submit;
in this small way, a sorrow born,
with knowing of night’s ending,
for she would long stay this kiss,
nary a word on my part to speak,
simply desire to savor the union;
if I would but turn to her, silent,
and beg with my gaze her undress,
she would fly from her garment
and sweep her flesh into my arms,
willing me to command the night.

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Posted by on September 8, 2015 in My Poetry



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