- Erotic Poetry
- Whispers and Wineskins
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These sheets still pulse, still whimper, still
move at memories of trembles. She
left her ghost at my bedroom door
still whispering seductive nothings
to walls now empty. Remember
me.
And I don't know how to forget
when each warm breeze that brushes flesh
recalls her heated moans against my own
bruised skin. Nothings worn thin
as remembrance.
Like that dance when we moved
backwards through fire
stripped to soul our
soul our
soul to stripped fire
through backwards entwining.
New lust.
Old wine.
The wine left a stain dark as her name
and these sheets still pulse her ecstasy.
And her ghost still stands whispering
her
nothings.
gone
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