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Dec 2018
The condensation of our deeds
           dripped like rain on the glass.
Steaming up the virtues that
              weren't spoken.
But deeds condensed within
                                      our actions.

We spoke no syllables,
               but everyone
               was etched in clenched fists
                               against moist glass.

His kisses where like streams running
           down my back, to the reservoir
of passion dripping over the fringe of
                                      my gasping waves.

Each was crashing in strength,
                         and I drowned
                                             within him.
Poetic T
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Poetic T  On Oblivions Doorstep
(On Oblivions Doorstep)   
309
   Poetic T
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