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:

WordPress.com Logo

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

Google photo

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

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s