Places of Love: the crispness of your shirt

i don’t know you at all
the way I don’t know
where this poem will take me
the charcoal night creeps up
like the tar smeared on the sidewalk
that’s when I want to press the hill
to the folds of my skin
formed from the breath of your love

we pressed the chins on the grass
watched the train in the valley
serpentine like the desire
that coiled and tangled us
the warmth of bodies pressed
like flowers, petal on petal,
the breeze, the kiss print of longing,
fingers clasped in knots of love

you kick the rug, folds fall heavy
like a metaphor that does not work
knots of nerves in your neck
stream into the crispness of your shirt
tracing paths into places
that you will not let me touch now
run my tongue
to draw the map of love

WWP: Write a stream of consciousness poem

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4 thoughts on “Places of Love: the crispness of your shirt

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