- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Patterns
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Touch me no flowers
no unfurlings
no mere slivers of flesh
Take Me to the grey morass
sift those cobwebs
as once she did
bloody fingers taking,
choosing the
memories
tendrils of thought
desires and predelictions
what can remain :
Glances
looks
thoughts exchanged
a finger lifted
a twitch of a brow
a gleen of sweat
on her upper lip
slowly a lazy trail
across the form
Runs, be the arbiter
Raise the flailing hand
blazon those welts
Now, I want to lick
that ooze
Nectar to me
oh so sweet that feeling
and yet ;
Did I even touch her
was it My mind
and eyes
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