The flesh-concealed
Prairies in
Your sienna neck,
A haven
Of lavender,
I suspect.
I leave clusters of
Healing kisses
All along there
For you,
And with that,
The song in your
Verbal throat knows just what
To do.
YOU ARE READING
SUNSHOWERS
Non-FictionA book of poetry. A book of tears. A book of blood and sweat, too. A book to hold me. Will you let it hold me?
