« FREE STYLE adventures | Main | Babki, a man with the slow hands »
February 25, 2005
Quills,and ropes
She has left traces, her scent inbedded in the sheets, she comes when the moon eludes the night, and stars send the last rays of light, far, faraway. She comes bare, silent, she comes to take, to ravish, and burn, and she does, in fine steps, as she tears every fabric, every cover, for she finds only the heat of a living body, the object of her desires, she brings leather, she brings chains, a rope, and quails, so after she cuts the skin, after she lifts the layes, when blood dripps,in tear shapes, and cymes in fine textures, she picks her quails and draws in sanscrit or latin, words of her tongues and peculiar lines that frame her words. and then she frees the hands,gentle, she kisses the skin, and suters it in fine silks, of her mane. then she holds me on her breasts, so I can hear her hearts as they echoe hollow, for she has lived beyound the realms, she offers me her tongue, her breath, in kisses, and songs, she feeds me under her breast, and luls me to sleep. Mornings come fresh, I am all tingles, my skin pink, my bones young, My hair grown, my teeth sharp, and electroc bolts firing inside my frame, my voice devine, and breath of flowers in my mouth, I have been portrayed, in her quails, I have been found, and returned to me,whole,with no erusions of time. but the soul is lostPosted by Idinraha at February 25, 2005 05:33 PM