Concupiscence
I want you at twilight,
in my room.
(Be it under me,
ontop of me)
The thousand faces
of every tooth of your smile
moan hastily,
pant lazily,
pucker,
grin back
at me.
The clouds are shades
the moon pulls over for privacy.
Never again
will there be a
bland
ordinary night.
The pines are rude in the wind
and always
voyerous
as I re-enter
the first breath of life
and you
(the only thing
breathing
to me
this night)
tremble
gently and lovingly
under my touch,
and so rests the world.
Copyright © Alex Bruinekool | Year Posted 2010
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