Artwork by Gonchar courtesy of sensual.artmam.com
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The wet tongue
of night
solicits responses
my lips are unable
or perhaps unwilling
to provide
I’ve grown into you
my lips rent
a favorite spot
on your shoulder
on nights like this
and pregnant pauses are reasons
for our eyes to slow dance
Indeed - the poetry of my
life pauses
in mid sentence
riveted to this delicious spot
on my page
by innumerable
“ifs” and untold
''why nots”
The wet tongue
of night
will just have to be indulgent…
for some things
are better left unsaid.
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