She has sunshine
in her hair,
like sun
on fields of corn.
I walk there,
brushing my fingers
through the softness.
She welcomes me in,
in I swim
through the waves
of her love;
she is my siren,
I, a drowning ******
Her lips are as fruit,
I am upon them
as a child greedy
for sustenance;
her moistness
embraces me.
Her thighs are ocean-like,
I bathe as one
needing salvation,
ablutions to a new end,
will this release
the dead me
or mend?
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
She has sunshine
in her hair,
like sun
on fields of corn.
I walk there,
brushing my fingers
through the softness.
She welcomes me in,
in I swim
through the waves
of her love;
she is my siren,
I, a drowning ******
Her lips are as fruit,
I am upon them
as a child greedy
for sustenance;
her moistness
embraces me.
Her thighs are ocean-like,
I bathe as one
needing salvation,
ablutions to a new end,
will this release
the dead me
or mend?
A BOY AND HIS GIRL IN 1969
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