I sleep a distance;
wings gliding through sky cotton,
the common misconception
was that I was dreaming.
In doing so, they skipped
over the blackened street
where my crumpled jeans lay,
the brown peeping out
slightly-closed eye lids.
What of that smear
across her bottom lip?
Why it's just gloss; hand
musta slipped.
Oh, a hand did slip
up the silk shirt,
across bare throat,
down the exposed chest,
below a slim stomach,
into that satin panty line
carving out Mother's work of art.
What a welcomed drifting it was.
 Lovers Never Tell · Wed Oct 22, 2008 @ 09:11am · 0 Comments |
