she lays on the bed
in front of me.
bare skin all over.
i lift my shirt off
at the foot off her bed.
how little faith the night
has in me,
putting money on my exhaustion.
we pull the covers over us, my
face in her neck.
scratch, bite, pull, push.
my hair goes from unkept to untame
like a lion's mane in the dry heat
of the sun.
and like a lion, i feast on her
body.
the curves below and above her hips.
her shoulders,
the nape of her neck.
minutes turn to hours
and her breathing in my ear
reminds me of our pulses.
the most holy moment of my life
remakes itself almost every day
and night
and spills over into the morning
all over itself.
no patience.
but i keep it to a dull roar.
at the last moment, we find
ourselves breathless
and still wanting more.
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 3:00 PM UTC
she lays on the bed
in front of me.
bare skin all over.
i lift my shirt off
at the foot off her bed.
how little faith the night
has in me,
putting money on my exhaustion.
we pull the covers over us, my
face in her neck.
scratch, bite, pull, push.
my hair goes from unkept to untame
like a lion's mane in the dry heat
of the sun.
and like a lion, i feast on her
body.
the curves below and above her hips.
her shoulders,
the nape of her neck.
minutes turn to hours
and her breathing in my ear
reminds me of our pulses.
the most holy moment of my life
remakes itself almost every day
and night
and spills over into the morning
all over itself.
no patience.
but i keep it to a dull roar.
at the last moment, we find
ourselves breathless
and still wanting more.
Copyright 2010 M.E. Lundy
