Fingers delicate, Breath slice, Skin against skin. Under cover sheets, above two pillows, her nimble fingers, laced on my hair, arms around, right where they should be,

wrap around me.

Her breath brings memories, of days long gone and far, Her voice echoes deep and somber, of a place where time stood still, Where she and I dance, to a song she and I wrote, in a time where she and I owned, in a place where she and I made, in a world where castles and walls and towers and falls and forests, were made of glass, and they glisten under the sun,

like her skin,

as the first rays of the sun peek, through my windowsill.

Her kiss made me hollow, her touch made me grip, as she rolls around the blue sheets of my room like thunder against the ocean waves.

Surrender, but I wouldn’t give in. Surrender, but I couldn’t give in. Surrender – 

Hands against the meadows of her body, the grass of brown and black as shadows build creases and crevices, each perfect in their own imperfection.

The memory plays out like a broken track, like a broken clock, every second left, farther from innocence, chastity and

the sound of the rain against the black-tar streets of solitude.


January 4, Friday, 11:18PM


One thought on “Ambrosia

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