Poetry No. 47 – rhea moon

delicate you brush with one tender finger under your earlobe the very spot just three evenings prior i watched in earnest a trembling sentry sat behind you in church the vulnerable flesh poised to meet the prospect of my lips and i could’ve just swept that spot gentler than a feather duster bumping everything on the way down or so i thought it might be … Continue reading Poetry No. 47 – rhea moon