On Assignment
skirted, wind blown from afar
I was not to be late for the affair
bells struck midnight
and there were two left in in the square
twelve strokes to signal we were there
we circled right
looking for a place to disappear
tongues tendered to the herd
we kissed
my bones bent to your will
it was late
stars begged us to stay
the moon in her blushed
less than casual rose state
checking out as clouds ruffled by
we were high
and you, smokin'
like you always do
the time, the place, the memory
the face
fingers dancing as we knew the end
much more than the beginning
heartbeats pausing
pleasing, my ears
romance, encapsuled
in the singing
desire, a choir of one
and we won
thirty beats, pulsating
blood in-between the bludgeoning
a sense of belonging
longing for days to never come
nights slashing through the dark
butchering arms
grasping
charred, bodies
steam
whistling as she walks away
Copyright © Ts Poetry | Year Posted 2020
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