How warm is your touch
against the barren wasteland
that is my soul?
As we lay here, the dying sun
gives us one last taste of freedom
before falling from the sky.
Beneath a blanket of night
you find the courage
to remove the layers of insecurities
clinging to your fragile bones
like flesh.
We intertwine
and as our bodies become entangled
you whisper words of release
as your core throbs
to the pace that I've set for us.
You dare not utter a moan
for the silence has claimed us
in this moment of passion;
stealing your voice
but giving you something
greater in return.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
How warm is your touch
against the barren wasteland
that is my soul?
As we lay here, the dying sun
gives us one last taste of freedom
before falling from the sky.
Beneath a blanket of night
you find the courage
to remove the layers of insecurities
clinging to your fragile bones
like flesh.
We intertwine
and as our bodies become entangled
you whisper words of release
as your core throbs
to the pace that I've set for us.
You dare not utter a moan
for the silence has claimed us
in this moment of passion;
stealing your voice
but giving you something
greater in return.
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