your face sits in the curve
of my neck,
butterfly tendrils of sleep
clutching our figures
when you whisper
you have dancers feet, and
kiss my jawline
wrapping arm around leg and
pressing us together,
feet now arched only in passion, not poise
my dance teacher turns over in her grave.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 6:48 AM UTC
your face sits in the curve
of my neck,
butterfly tendrils of sleep
clutching our figures
when you whisper
you have dancers feet, and
kiss my jawline
wrapping arm around leg and
pressing us together,
feet now arched only in passion, not poise
my dance teacher turns over in her grave.