In my marigold sheath and satin underpinnings
I sit, I wait, you shift.
We flirt, with nervous eyes, expressive mouths, clumsy tongues,
Our milky cheeks flushed, like the inside of a bruised plum.
Your lips, still sweet with Bellini.
Wet strands, runny noses, your starched jacket
Now redolent with top note notes of marshmallow and
In our gleamy, musk drunk body glow
With darting breath and glossy limbs
We protect a fleeting lust, illiterate to a certain wane, we grip tight Continue reading