Seven Sundays 

 

Seven Sunday’s
and golden sun,
Thelma Plum
and honey lips
plump,
The art of sleeping
lost at 3
No notion of sleep,
Roaming tongues –
Awake on our knees
Cotton sheets
and silk ties
caress
Wrists bound
Limbs awake
Arching high
Fingers grip
The softest sighs,
Little dear
Mine
In the morning light.

JCALVERT 2016

4 thoughts on “Seven Sundays 

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