Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2020
my hands hover above his skin
ready to begin a glorious prelude,
a lithe overture
smooth ivory lay beneath my fingertips
where anticipation mounts,
palms tingling, aching to travel
across satin scenery, the supple canvas
my covetous joints crave
the staging of a sacred symphony
to b minor not to be mine
Erin
Written by
Erin  26/F/NYC
(26/F/NYC)   
311
   Captain and annh
Please log in to view and add comments on poems