Late Poem by Harlequin Rose
Late
I don't want to forget how this feels
these mornings
intimate with the rustling of sheets
when ecstasy steals the words
from even the most cunning tongue
the elegance of an emotion
that is unidentifiable before daylight
our touches remain innocent
our intentions are not
drained dry and resting easy
and breathing the same air
we fall asleep with late thoughts
resting in our hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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9/18/2024 5:23:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
