freckled flowers

There was a beauty mark

on the edge of your lips

it would dance as you talked


A slight swing to those hips

that I wanted to trace with my tongue


You were made up of

heady desire

a lick of inducement


Conniving thorns wrapped up in your touch

let me pierce my skin with it


I could taste those drops of crimson

meddle fire with ice


I’d fight off heaven and hell

just to become

those flecks of mahogany

engraved in your skin





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: