Un Petit Mort

 

I touch cold skin

in the crook of your neck,

kiss briney lips

that taste of me.

 

 

My moss covered hair

tangles in your toes

tickles you there

in the darkness, alone.

 

 

You thrash beneath me

for a little, for a breath.

Gulping down my love

for you, till the end of time.

 

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About Vicki

Wife, mother, student, writer. View all posts by Vicki

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