Monday, September 7, 2009

Cup Sssssssssip

An artistic creation, in my hands!
I take her and she slides as I wish
Transparent, nothing she hid from me

Now she lays open
Still she is clasped by me
She readily unfolds her warmth
My lips rubbed hers
I utterly nestle and succumb to her
My fingers keep running over her ribs

She quenches my thirst and is empty now
Ten minutes, everything ended between us
“Once hot and now arctic”, I mutter
I threw her debris
I am denied one more cup of tea

🪶 The Arena Is Not my Name

I stood where echoes feed on stone,  where verdicts wear robes of delay.  They called it duty, I called it dusk—  the hour when silence lear...