Yet another poem about a certain young woman : ).
A sullen quietude descends.
It lends some atmosphere to greet the gloom and
Settle in the stagnant room.
Your heady breath disrupts the moths;
They flit and fleck the walls;
A crane fly
Hovers lonely in your wake, I walk
My fingers down your shoulder blade.
Putty soft and thick as cream
I drag across your creaseless seams,
The wet-skinned plush;
The salted sweat that foams across your thigh,
I dream and
Blink the dust and tears and
Tension trickled through our eyes,
And I am
Gathered small and incomplete
Beside my monolith,
And stretched out I can’t even reach
My fingers to your fingers;
My feet down to your feet.