To SleepThere is nothing else to do but
bruised night away.
This is a timeless day and she
pets her dreams on her lap.
The soft, silky fur of a tongue
rasped along her inner thigh,
she’ll sigh, close the shutters
and be sublime behind lids.
Poetry by Elle
Read 241 times
Written on 2009-03-10 at 12:20
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