Eccentric kisses, placed randomly between
yin and yang. Touch me there now,
excoriate the plateau beneath my breasts.
Often, when the tendrils shoot into the ground,
fluttering baby leaves remind me of your caress.
They try to cure me, my fantasies, they think I’m
hurting. How I wish they could see through my
eyes, feel through my senses, orgasm through me.
Beyond the cataclysmic act of marriage, the
extempore sex, there were the bites, my bountiful
harvest. Intertwined deeply into the
onomatopoeia of our lives, the quiet
lassitude of a passion without a name,
desires too shameful and too secret. Their
exclamations still ring in the vaults, the windowless
rooms we met in, never seeing each others’ faces.
Author notes
Acrostic... Playing with alphabets and images.
Adding your comment: