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Jul 2019
Nursing cracked paper backs and dusty reference works,
Softly uttered beauty,
Topped by brown bun glows in alabaster skin,
Bespectacled,
She whispers,
Quiet please.

Words slip through fingers,
Stretched,
In constrained eroticism,
A country woman in tweed.

Her passing stamp,
Over a pristine white sheet,
beckoning,
β€œreturn”.

Reading her unspoken words,
A chapter opens,
I succumb to her prose,
Love,
I suppose.
A restrained sensuality is somehow more intoxicating than something more brash. Someone who’s life is order and system, I imagine, contains the makings of collapse into blissful release.
Written by
Stephen Moore  M
(M)   
405
 
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