What colours
Were ever more meant,
Then crimson on snow
And raven black strands?
Sea green trickling
To a rose cupids bow.
And blue lines map,
To that pulse by the neck.
Red rope on ivory skin
Rough abrasion on soft silk
Burning hurt leading to gasping pleasures
The contradictions that make life worth living
It is not in the way your eyes see through me as mine follow the arc of your approach.
Nor is it the way your fingers trail heat across my flesh where moments ago chilled goosebumps were raised.
It isn’t the way your lips lure the truth of my desires, spilling secrets never before revealed. Continue reading