the straddling vines are there, I know,
near the bedroom window,
dangling against a starless sky,
cascading the night, with a muted sly;
encroaching the intermittent silences,
between us, going places.
cashing in on my ignorance
of their senses,
compared to mine, immersed in her *****
and on her thighs, the straddling veins
shining on both, an eager moon, in vain
as the clouds moved in to veil my lay in.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC