All I can feel under my cupped palm
is fabric,
but we both know
it means so much more.
Lying on my bedroom floor,
itchy rug beneath our heads.
My eyes flick from my hand
to your steady,
mossy gaze.
I add my other hand
and involuntarily
your beautiful eyes slide closed.
The taste of your lips is
a delicacy, but not in short supply.
I take a second helping,
feasting,
my hands roaming you like there is no tomorrow.
But there will be,
and we'll do this again,
and again,
until I know you --
have mapped you --
inside and out.
I remember every dimple,
every freckle,
everything.
YOU ARE READING
Stormy Shoals: A Poetry Collection
PoetryAnother poetry collection from my heart, just letting the words bleed onto the page. I mask the hurt with pain, because pain demands to be felt. But hurt just demands to ruin your life.... 🖤🖤Trigger warning: everything🖤🖤 "Criminally underrated...
