i want to prose you on the kitchen table
with my smile melting into your own.
and i want to prose you as colors of the sunset
awash your skin,
preserving our moment in amber.
oh,
and can i prose you in the morning
before we go to work
and sleepiness has
not quite
fled from our muscles?
i want to prose you while your fingertips
trail from
my cheek
to my hair
to my shoulders,
effortless like water
trickling down the length of me.
i want to prose you
roughly,
gently,
quietly,
loudly,
taking our time,
lettings details fill themselves
between the hours.
i want to prose you in the dead of winter,
with the fire crackling like a whispered secret,
and in the slowest molasses days of summer,
when grime and sweat clings to flypaper skin.
i will prose you ‘till we are speechless,
and sleeping tucked between the pages of a masterpiece.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
i want to prose you on the kitchen table
with my smile melting into your own.
and i want to prose you as colors of the sunset
awash your skin,
preserving our moment in amber.
oh,
and can i prose you in the morning
before we go to work
and sleepiness has
not quite
fled from our muscles?
i want to prose you while your fingertips
trail from
my cheek
to my hair
to my shoulders,
effortless like water
trickling down the length of me.
i want to prose you
roughly,
gently,
quietly,
loudly,
taking our time,
lettings details fill themselves
between the hours.
i want to prose you in the dead of winter,
with the fire crackling like a whispered secret,
and in the slowest molasses days of summer,
when grime and sweat clings to flypaper skin.
i will prose you ‘till we are speechless,
and sleeping tucked between the pages of a masterpiece.
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