The Finality of Flesh and Sin
The moon breathes motion,
choreographed slivers of silver
parting inhaled memoirs of
you (blanketed in chips of rays)
and me (daintied in drowned damsels)
We drift together protected by
layers of skirmished words
thawed upon mist of morning
wants and dread of darkness
breaking once unbreakable needs
The flimsy pulse of distance
hides the beats within our song
as the tap-tap-tapping carries
sound beneath silent shores
of untraveled fleshy touches
Copyright © Mark Anthony Cotterman | Year Posted 2014
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