A single breath releases from her and
The sunlight pierces holes through the curtains.
Our Sunday sheets stick and the sweet smell of
Soft sweat grows the closer we get closer.

Her touch tingles and her taste mingles
In mirth and merry moments of me and
her and memories past, future and present.

If my heart could only be my lips…

“Tell me pretty passionate lies” she cries
and I do the best I can to oblige:
I surmise posit and propel pleasant
Platitudes and position my hands e-
ver so slightly that our thoughts grow mighty.

Our thoughts grow big, bold, too right to scold
and the quiet hour quickly gets grand.

Then stops.

.. …

In the most euphoric pause.

.

From Heaven’s Sunday sermons we descend
back to the soft silk sheets and, once more, in-
dulge in our retreat without defeat.

And then breakfast.

Advertisements

Welcome to the empty recesses of my mind! I'm a recent college graduate realizing a Creative Writing degree was a bad idea. Give me a pity like. Or you could check out the about sections (on the front page and about this author page) on my blog to learn a little more about me. Whatever. https://thebohemianrockstarpresents.wordpress.com/

One Comment on “Silky Sunday Sheets

What do you think? Do you agree? Do you love it? Or am i a complete tool? Any response is welcome!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: