No words
one bed
two souls
and an understanding
that all there is
is now,
a perfect, crystalline cocoon
where time eddies amidst the sirens
A mid-city womb.
Where heady gazes heavy linger,
laden with unspoken fruit,
and breath slips over parted lips in suit.
A crescendo of tidal energies, intertwined,
bitten,
strained
setting flight to lands unnamed
Fingertips on fingertips
a languid, lazy leg,
draped gently over over supine form
no words
two souls
one bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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