Sweaty hands cling to the headboard
As bone rides bone
You're shaking
Calling out a name
Coming close to touch
These hands hold smooth wood
As bodies pollinate.
Feeling raw, feeling rapture
Calling out a name
Coming close to touch
Offering all of you.
Taken from Smoking Butterflies © 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem