He had a deep yearning in his loins,
growing, took up a pen to write
it away, giving her shape to his
longing, throwing a blanket on
the dewy grass in the sweltering
pocket universe of his mind,
undressing her with his words,
gently guiding her down on her
knees with his sentences, writing
her waiting, opening to him for
him to quench his thirst; he wrote,
with rushed thrusts, of feeling her
around him, the soft skin of her hips
tender under his hands gripping
them, as he move to the tune of
the branches swaying in the wind,
in and out, slowly, until the release.
As his poem ended and he dropped
the pen, came the sound of a message
arriving from her in his phone:
I can't make it tonight, honey.
12.-23.06.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse Poem Poems Poetry Verse
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