Poem -
She
It's late.
She walks past me running her hand along my back as she goes.Â
Her smell.
like the purple flowers that bloom in the neighbors yard.
Come back I yell.
She stops.
Turns to me.
Lowers her body just enough so that I can lick her face.
She tastes like sunshine.
I am hers.Â
Â
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Comments
This is a beautiful piece of writing. Makes me sad and happy at the same time...no mean feat. Thanks for posting.
T
I really liked this. It has a nice smooth sultry flow to it. I'm thinking maybe I should have tried the same tact when my wife left me.   Saying "come back" might have made an impression, but, it could have got me slapped when I tried to lick her face.
Anyway, excellent job.Â
David