she says,
his body, it fits
with mine
differently
and his breathing
is a whole new
rhythm.
the blood in him
runs so hot
it is like sleeping
in a bonfire.
and when he whispers
low words into
the back of my neck,
i learn a slow new
language.
cooking again, stubborn as hell.
3 weeks ago

2 comments:
gorgeous. i love this poem.
Really pretty good style.
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