a mind, bound

you

did not kiss her
when you touched her

the last time,
your entry
lacked finesse –
was more like your marriage,
cold, hard, familiar

inevitable, regrettable

but…

you held her,
wrists above her head,
hips cracking

manic

hard

bound

and again,
and again,
and again

you touched her,
that stranger,
walking by you,
you held her,
your eyes on her skirt,
her strong legs

your mind… and her
in a vice
as you
kissed her

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Longing, Poem, poetry, ust and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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