The love child of our rhythmic labor
Your sweat seeped into my skin and,
Lived there.
Lives there.
I smell your satisfaction,
Your exhales.
I smell your, fast and slow, and faster and, slower.
Exclamation.
Even the clouds swollen with rain
make my loins grow uneasy
At the thought that they might explode
And be satisfied.
Or as the Earth becomes black with night
And the sun lies down to rest
And day is satisfied
I smell your sweat in my skin
Sticky with dew.
- Sade' Miller
No comments:
Post a Comment