Black striped knee-highs in your old photographs
Black knee-highs on me
Your face blurs under the breaths you take
Lips, skin, absorb, kiss, breath
His rough hands ghost over my shoulder blades
Her eyes are scorch marks on your hips
As you're pulling me into your mouth I can't help
Teasing behind an earlobe, trailing along your jawbone on my way
Remembering memory foam, imprinted on my tailbone, precarious
Beneath the divet of his thighs
And she's on you, in you, around you,
He's with me, caressing, wanting
Their scents linger within the sheets
Your scent lingers on my tongue
And I dip my head to shut them up
Shut them up - "I'm so glad I don't hate you"
"I'm so glad you don't hate me"
And I know they've won.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
Black striped knee-highs in your old photographs
Black knee-highs on me
Your face blurs under the breaths you take
Lips, skin, absorb, kiss, breath
His rough hands ghost over my shoulder blades
Her eyes are scorch marks on your hips
As you're pulling me into your mouth I can't help
Teasing behind an earlobe, trailing along your jawbone on my way
Remembering memory foam, imprinted on my tailbone, precarious
Beneath the divet of his thighs
And she's on you, in you, around you,
He's with me, caressing, wanting
Their scents linger within the sheets
Your scent lingers on my tongue
And I dip my head to shut them up
Shut them up - "I'm so glad I don't hate you"
"I'm so glad you don't hate me"
And I know they've won.
Request permission to use this poem