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Gossamer draperies swell
with heat, eastern winds
push daylight
over tangled bodies.

Fingers travel up
and down your naked torso,
my hand caught suddenly
in yours as you stir,
a sleepy god awakened
by the warmth of morning.

Your body, a sundial,
keeps perfect time with mine;
two lovers cached in silken strands,
our sacred place now fully lit
with the hunger of summer.

The solstice lingers past its prime,
drifting over equator
and into southern skies
as autumn patiently waits
outside the bedroom door.
Simon Piesse Dec 2020
Take me back to that place
Where dichotomies of
North or South
Right or Wrong
Ground Zero
Zero Nine May 2017
Her shoulder *****
open to the sun
reveals the long road
to warmer sands,
where her heart beats
the waves in the ocean,
as the bass through boards
on her holy dance floor,
private, secluded.
Her trim of green
smells of a sweet
musk, patchouli, of
old cinnamon
I fill my lungs
I pretend that she's smoke,
invites and then guides
my journey toward her
sacred equator.

|||||||||||||||. . .

On the run, the run, on the run
There's a place to which I'd like to travel
But I've been there before THAT'S
HAPPINESS actualized and two heavy
hands to wipe it all away
Disintegrate, disintegrate
On the run, the run, on the run
Invitation is one thing -- I don't deserve
The want is with me the
heart is pure

This spirit, though
still broken from
whatever time before

— The End —