Archive 09/13/10 - (1)

 

   

Tongue Tips

                                                                  

 

Then,

One gossamer, bird-chirping-early working-day Monday a.m.

In the twilight of his almost-way-too-late middle age,

He found himself, not in name, body, spirit, or soul only,

Connected, belonging, devoted,

 

Devoted to a lady, a smile, a dream within a dream,

In whose smooth, ivory bedsheets he awakened,

Barely able to imagine from where her beautiful shape appeared.

Before he slipped from naked embrace with her,

He gently nuzzled the tip of his tongue into her left ear

 

And whispered,

Whispered the wet essence of his existence's distilled mysteries,

That she might know where he'd go, where he'd be,

Upon exiting her slow breath's low, moaning whimpers,

And just how much he'd really miss their touching.

 

And though he finally did leave, he did so in name only.

The rest of his presence remained in her left ear,

Resonating, reverberating, reiterating,

Echoing, "I love you, love you, love you...love

You,"

 

Until two nights later,

When, lonely down to the very bones of his name-only,

He returned to her yearning, low, moaning whimper,

That she might nuzzle his left ear,

With the mysteries of her whisperous tongue tip's love.

 

 

 

 

                               

 

09/13/10 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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