Sundays Taste of You
Our coiled limbs
Refuse
To let go.
The Sun's rays
Mingle
With our glow.
Long past lunch,
Aching.
All we need
Is right here
Under
The duvet.
We're content
Laying
Close despite
Our clammy
Flesh, thighs
Adhering.
I kiss your
Forehead
Studded with
Your cool sweat.
And then
I'm hooked
All over again...
Copyright © Neil Nelson | Year Posted 2017
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