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Apr 2013
the cricket sound of hot-love dusk,
the silently fluttering madness of moonlight,
it hides under her eyelids as she
presses her sweet lips to the night;

you tremble beneath the weight of her molten stare,
your teeth piercing the solemn reverence of her ashen heart --

oh, god, touch her
hands cold like ghosts
in your arms like a guitar, her
soul bleeds onto your naked chest
warm
breath
slow
breathe, oh Dawn, look,
your hot-love is fire;

two die
and one becomes
Through love we discard our pain and are reborn.
Written by
Lauren  California
(California)   
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